Scrubs
by ravinsteady
Summary: Getting together was never the problem- a guy like Stiles Stilinski didn't say no to the Derek Hales of the world. Sterek A/U: Med school, no significant age gap, Derek is popular & socially competent, Stiles is guarded & doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve.
1. Chapter 1

Scrubs

**Summary: **

Sterek A/U: Starts in college/med school, no significant age gap, Derek is socially competent, Stiles doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve

Getting together was never the problem- a guy like Stiles Stillinski didn't say no to the Derek Hales of the world. So even though Stiles isn't completely over his ex, and Derek's views on love are ripped from the walls of prehistoric cave art, they still end up falling hard and making a mess of each other.

Warnings: Rating will bump up eventually

* * *

My name is Stiles Stillinski, and I'm a med student. If you want to know why, I have a meticulously drafted personal statement full of good reasons—I wanted to help people, I'm decently intelligent, I've no problem giving up a significant portion of my twenties to the betterment of humanity.

But if you want the real reason, it's because I had to watch my mom die. Slowly. At the time I didn't know anything about tumor receptor upregulation or lymph node staging. What I did know was that the oncologist was in the room with Dad talking about what to do if there was nothing else that could be done.

But that was seven years ago, and I've worked through it. Firstly because of my father, secondly because of a boy I thought was my soulmate…. who years later dumped me on my front porch, took my dog, and left the state but that's a different story entirely.

Currently, the source of my epic man pain is seated on the other side of a long steel table in the anatomy lab. There's a very stiff, very pungent cadaver laying between us that our group had affectionately named Kevin, even though we weren't really supposed to be naming them- but 'Male-1276' as the tag on his big toe read sounded so much more formal.

Call me old fashioned but if I'm going to be elbows deep in anyone I'd at least like to be on a first name basis.

Replacing the blunted blade on my scalpel with a new one, I scour over my preemptively highlighted notes. In med school, if you're not pre-reading two chapters in advance, you might as well not bother showing up at all. Unless of course you're Derek friggin Hale. Then you can show up whenever the hell you want and just know everything about everything and still not come off as an arrogant turd. It became quite obvious within the first couple days that he was our year's _Gunner_- the guy with all the answers, oozing so much natural confidence and carefree intelligence it made me want to vomit all over the brown suede Pumas he was so fond of. I swear he had like eight pairs. Then of course there were his collection of three hundred dollar 501's, and multiple Ed Hardy t-shirts that screamed d-bag but also showed off his gloriously broad chest.

With a distasteful sigh I look up from the horrific mess I've made of Kevin's right shoulder and give my eyes a break from the gore, washing them clean with the sight of Derek. Even in pale blue scrubs he was breathtaking.

His dark liquorice hair, minty eyes, chocolate sprinkle stubble… I think I may just want to eat his face. I swear I'm not a card carrying member of the Hale fanclub. I just appreciate effortless sexual prowess when I saw it, and Derek had it in spades. What's worse is that he knew how to use it.

Derek was an aggressive flirt.

Guys, girls, that turkey sandwich he had molested the other day—anything was fair game to him. Sure he claimed he was gay, but he still looked down Lydia's shirt and commented on how sprightly her breasts were on a day-to-day basis, much to her delight. He did it for attention. Thrived on it. Fed off it. Existed completely in the spotlight though it was obvious it meant nothing to him. For all the smiles he flashed, it didn't seem like Derek Hale cared about anything.

He did the work—he must have, if he was passing all his classes—but most of the time he had his earphones in, jotting down things on scraps of paper that I'm certain have nothing to do with what the professor was saying. Yet somehow when he's asked a question he's all smiles and teeth and correct answers.

Sometimes I imagine that under that candy coated exterior there's a dark brooding asshole just waiting to burst forth, and _that_ guy I could perhaps understand, but the way he is now… I didn't know whether to just ignore him or stick my tongue between his teeth and try to osmotically absorb whatever double helical structures he carries that makes him so fuckably gifted at life.

"Derek, looks like Stiles is stuck- could you come help us out?" Lydia asks sweetly.

"I've got it," I manage to splutter, but to be honest, dissecting out the ivory white nerves in a cadaver's arm isn't as easy as I thought it would be.

"But Derek's already done his arm," Lydia replies innocently. I don't for a minute buy her wide-eyed vacant expression, not when she's got one of the highest grades in the class.

"What have you got here?" I stiffen as a deep, impossibly sexy voice rumbles over my shoulder.

"Just getting down to the axilla," I say tightly, glancing down at the lab manual on the steel table.

It doesn't look anything like the diagram.

"That doesn't look anything like the diagram," Derek echoes my thoughts, helpfully.

I attempt a glare, but his disarmingly handsome smile makes it wither away.

"You want to give it a go, Gunner?" I offer up the scalpel.

He lifts it from my hands, twirls it in his fingers because he's a cocky sonofabitch, then proceeds to tell me I should be using the mall probe instead. Lydia leans over the cadaver to hand him one, and a wayward lock of shiny strawberry blonde dunks into the Kev's gaping chest cavity. I choose not to point this out. She should have her flawless tresses pinned back anyway—it says so right there on the sign behind her head.

Derek smiles at her, and it makes my stomach turn.

_That_ makes my stomach turn, not the three rows of dead bodies in the room. What is my life?

"It's easier to work from distal to proximal and follow the radial nerve up to the brachial plexus…" Derek coaches us. It takes him all of three minutes to separate through the fascia and produce the neat little M-shaped intersection of nerves that look exactly like what's in the manual. He's disturbingly good at this.

"You were right there Stiles, just needed a little cleaning up."He grins at me.

I try not to have a violent orgasmic reaction to the way he says my name—which really isn't any different to the way he says anyone's name, it's just the fact that he knew my name in the first place that makes my heart stiffen and my cock thump. Or the other way round. I don't know.

"That looks great Derek!" Lydia smiles winningly before alerting the TA, who then proceeds to tell the entire class that they should come look at the standard of Mr. Hale's 'fine work'.

My side of the cadaver is overrun, and I end up sitting on the high stool for the next hour pretending to read my lab manual while Derek Superstar Hale points out structures to the other students.

And it's actually kinda helpful, listening to him explain things. He has a calm leadership I could find myself gravitating to. Half of me thinks that if I just give in and join the Hale worshippers, but I don't feel obligated to be his butt monkey just because he has the body of a navy seal and the cheekbones of a demigod.

Derek says my name a lot after that day.

"Hey Stiles, want to come to lunch with us?"

…_No, because I don't like how Lydia's side boob presses against your arm, and how Isaac eyefucks you across the table and how you seem to enjoy all of it._

"Stiles what page are we on?"

_How the fuck should I know when I've been staring at the back of your stupidly broad shoulders and fantasizing about climbing you like a palm tree._

"What color are your eyes Stiles? I've been trying to figure it out all day."

_I like to call them Urban Swamp. For the record I call yours Forest Wonderland._

There's also the touching.

His hands have a bizarrely paralyzing effect on every bone in my body, especially when his fingers knead the back of my neck and he murmurs 'morning Stiles' in my ear.

But then, he touches everyone. He touches Lydia, a lot. She gets a lip lock in the morning. Granted it's no more than you'd give your aunt but it's still Derek Hale's lips on Lydia Martin's. I'm gay and even I get turned on by that. After the initial spasm of revulsion, that is.

"Hey, you want to grab a burger?" Derek asks a few weeks later as we rinse off our dissecting kits. We're the last ones to leave because Derek had dawdled and fidgeted and loitered around just to make my life miserable.

"My roommate and I are doing lunch, but I think Boyd and Isaac were going to get pizza," I say nodding out the door. "Why don't you go ahead, I can finish up."

Derek flings the tools in the sink so they clatter loudly, as if accenting the sudden irritation pouring off him in waves.

"What the fuck is it going to take to get anywhere with you Stillinski?"

My eyes gape open. That wasn't very Derek Charmer Hale of him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how I've been flirting with you for weeks and you've done fuck all about it! I know you've noticed."

My face heats. Yeah alright, I'd picked up on it. I just never thought it even registered in his brain since he seemed to be that way with everyone.

"Oh." I reply.

"…That's it?" Derek asks, ripping off his size eleven latex gloves and violently throwing them in the trash. Well, as violently as soiled gloves can fly.

"What exactly did you want me to say Derek? I never gave you any indication I was looking. I'm not, for the record."

"Stiles, I'm gay."

"Congratulations?" I say, thoroughly scrubbing my hands as he does the same in the sink beside me.

"Look all I'm trying to say is that... we could get along in an environment with fewer dead people. We have similar interests."

Derek deliberately reaches over my shoulder to tear off a piece of paper towel. He's barely got two inches on me, but the way he postures makes it feel like a mile.

"And by similar interests you mean cock?" I ask dryly. Figures. I'm the only other out gay kid in class so clearly his options are limited.

"Yes. But I'm okay with starting out as friends," he pauses. "With benefits."

"A kind and generous offer Derek, but I've got a lot on my mind right now. Why don't you give me a call after graduation, alright?"

…It's not alright. His lip curls and I swear I can see his canines flash at me.

"How would I call you Stiles- I don't even have your number!"

Of all the things for Derek Hale to get worked up about, this is what got to him? "You have my number Derek. It was in the email we got when we first got split off into lab groups."

It takes a moment for the words to register, but eventually he looks up at me through long eyelashes that curve up just at the tips like a ski jump.

"Oh." He says, broodingly. I'd made Derek hale brood. It suited him; somehow he seemed more real in that moment than he had flashing that heart-stopping smile to anyone that looked his way.

"You know if it was such a big deal you could have just asked me for it," I tell him.

"When would I have had the chance to? While we're cracking open a rib cage? Hey Stiles- watch out for flying shards of bone. Also, you have the prettiest mouth I've ever seen and I'd very much like to cum in it sometime so may I give you a call? I'm free this Saturday."

"I work Saturdays," I reply, because my comebacks tend to be reflexive, and not in continuity with my brain. In reality I'm wrapping my head around the realization that Derek fucking Hale was trying to get in my pants. Mouth. Whatever.

"Work? You sit at in the front desk in the library for five hours in the morning."

"…Great, you're stalking me now? When exactly should I expect to turn up in a body bag in the trunk of your car?"

"Keep turning me down and you might find out. You already know how good I am with a scalpel," he says it with such a dead serious face it makes my laugh come out a little nervous. It dies in my throat however when his palm brushed across my cheek. There's a waft of disinfectant, but this close I can also smell his aftershave… though it doesn't look like he bothered with the shaving part of his morning ritual. I was alright with this.

"You're going to remember this moment," Derek rumbles, with air quotes in his tone.

"What?"

"That's something my mom said to my dad the first time they met."

"You're going to the doctor Eddie," I reply somberly. "That's something my dad said to my uncle when we found him in the garage trying to build a time machine out of my jeep's engine and some hangers."

"Good to know you have mental health issues in your family. When we have kids, we're using my swimmers."

"Aaaand now I'm genuinely afraid of you. Like, on a scale of one to rape whistle you-"

His hand shoves my jaw up roughly and his mouth presses against mine.

So maybe he is gay. Or at least Bi. One thing he certainly is, is a good kisser. His fingers dig into my cheek and my jaw forcing open my mouth as he dips his adventurous tongue so deep I'm wondering if he tastes the pop tart I had for lunch.

He on the other hand tastes like coffee and pepperminty toothpaste… at five in the afternoon. He wasn't in class this morning; I'm starting to think he rolled out of bed minutes before lab started, threw on some scrubs and raced down here. I smile at the thought, letting a laugh roll from my chest.

He pulls back curiously. He's probably not used to being laughed at during a kiss. When he presses the impressive bulge in his jeans against my hip, any amusement in my eyes dies.

"I'm not fucking around Stiles," he says, low and raw. "We can start off slow, but we better start _something_, because I'm tired of waiting. Believe it or not I'm not usually the one that has to make the first move."

I believe it.

I just don't know how to respond.

"…You know Derek… you picked a really romantic location to come out with all of this. I hope this means we have our first date at a funeral, and get married in a picturesque graveyard."

Derek doesn't reply, choosing to use his tongue to tease mine back to life. It's warm and intoxicating, and I'm pushing my hips back against his before I realize what I'm doing.

How I keep attracting guys way out of my league I'll never understand. Not that I was putting myself down- I'm not in high school anymore. I've come to appreciate my boyish handsomeness, and I have a body most gay guys appreciate on second glance.

But to the Derek Hale's of the world, the perfect people, I barely meet the minimum physical requirements… which means any attraction they feel for me is usually coupled with some ulterior motive that _they_ might not even realize until it's too late and they've already broken me. Guys like that were like a hurricanes—they maimed and mutilated and just as easily disappeared.

And the disappearing, that was the worst of it.

"Stop that," Derek growls. "You're looking at me like I'm about to kick you in the balls. I don't want you projecting whatever your ex did onto me."

I do a double take. _Scott and his big mouth._

"And what did my well intentioned roommate tell you?" I ask.

"Not much," Derek concedes. "I asked if you were seeing anyone and he said you weren't really looking… said some guy did a number on you and now you had issues so I should _watch my step_."

I smille to myself. Considering Scott and I had only met in undergrad, it was curious how quickly we'd become protective of each other. He's the only one who knows the whole humiliating history of what happened with my last real boyfriend.

Derek clearly isn't appreciating my train of thought as his face turns more sour by the second. The expression tells me he doesn't understand my hesitation, that he's never had _his_ self-esteem torn to shreds by someone he's loved.

Of course not- Derek was the kind of guy that did the shredding. I was the guy left with the gaping chest cavity, allowing curious fingers to poke and prod until there was nothing left.

"God you're annoying—I can hear your brain running a mile a minute!" Derek grunts. "I'm not asking you to fall in love with me on one date Stiles, just give me a shot."

He hadn't phrased it as a question. Derek Hale doesn't need to. I'm Stiles. Funny, haha, bookish Stiles. Guys like me don't say no to guys like him, and I wasn't brave enough to be the first to break the trend.

I take a hesitant breath, and release it along with any remaining resolve I'd had to turn him down. I was about to get my heart broken all over again when it wasn't even done healing from the last guy who gutted it… but you know, what's a Thursday afternoon without a little masochism?

"Why don't we start with pizza," I say. "We'll work up to the 'with benefits'."

The sour expression lets up a little. "I can live with that."

* * *

Review if you'd like to, or not, it's all good. I'm not sure if anyone's going to read this anyway, it's up to the Internet Gods. I mean tumblr.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** People looked at it! Awesome! Yes, it's insanely AU… doctors? Werewolves sound more believable in comparison, but thanks for giving it a chance anyway.

**Warning: **Rating went up!

* * *

Chapter 2

The first time we have sex is fast and unexpected.

I was laying in my boxers on my unmade bed making cue cards for psych, nothing but the creaking ceiling fan to keep me cool. Derek had barged in and climbed on top of me, pawing at me like he usually did until I rolled over and paid attention to him.

He was sweaty and tired, the sheen over his chest telling me he'd been out for a run when he'd decided to stop by for a dry hump. I don't know when he started feeling entitled to just do these things without so much as a '_can I come over?_' but it's not like we see each other much outside of class. When we do get together, my Dad would inevitably call to ask why the DVR had deleted all his episodes of NCIS, or Erica who lived across the hall would knock on my door needing quarters for laundry, or Scott would tweet a video of a teacup pig trying to navigate down a flight of stairs- and if there were no 'lol's' given he would stand outside my door and moan about how everyone hated teacup pigs.

So when Derek jumps me on that sweltering Sunday morning and we start fooling around, it's fun, and exciting, but it's without any great expectations for it to go anywhere. Except today of all days the stars had aligned themselves differently.

Dad had gone on a fishing trip with his law enforcement buddies and was at no risk of throwing the DVR out the window.

Erica had found an extra pair of scrubs and had deferred her laundry for another few days.

Youtube was down.

Blissfully unaware of all this, Derek and I continued as we always did, halfheartedly tugging at each other's clothes, laughing, grinding, but it never felt like we were close enough and we were getting more frustrated by the second. When his hand slid down my back and under the waistband of my boxers, suddenly things escalated. One moment I'd felt curious fingers at my entrance, and the next I'd rolled over and Derek Hale was balls deep inside me.

It was chaotic, and messy and had hurt only slightly less longer than it had felt good, but when he'd orgasmed roughly and rasped my name, I came so hard I stopped breathing. I was still frantically drawing air into my lungs when Derek pulled out and rolled onto his back beside me, filling the room with his own pants. Face down and boneless, I felt like some sort of cartoon character that had just been steamrolled.

We hadn't used a condom.

I knew Scott had a box of them in his room across from mine but everything had happened so quickly … and yes, I mock people when they say that, because if they do wake up weeks from now with an itch I would laugh... But when it happens to me I claim temporary insanity, and don't find the situation amusing in the slightest.

"I got tested last month, I don't have anything," Derek says.

Seriously. He'd missed his calling as a Hallmark gift card writer. _'I'm sorry we got carried away I put my dick in you without asking, but FYI I'm disease free.'_

"Alright." I half mumble into the pillow, facing away from him.

"If you want to see the results—"

"I do," I reply a little too abruptly. "I mean I believe you, I just…"

There was a big difference between believing someone and trusting them.

"It's cool. I get it."

A hand pats my head.

Derek's not really good at non-sexual forms of human contact, but I appreciate what he was trying to do. I turn to face him. He looks just as spent and sweaty as I feel.

"I've got my results too, somewhere. I mean they're old, I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"I could tell. You were tight as fuck. How long has it been?"

I think back to the flurry of one night stands I'd had after my break up. I could barely remember faces let alone dates. "A while," I reply with a shrug.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Good hurt."

"Good?"

"Well, it was pretty short."

"Excuse me?" He deadpans.

"I mean the length of our encounter not the length of your…" I snort. "You're huge. I think you already know that."

"Yeah, I do, and I'd have lasted longer if you'd hadn't been sobbing my name over and over and over and—"

I slam a pillow in his face then try to smother him. He doesn't react.

"So… what are we now?" He asks, voice muffled.

"Huh?" I lift the pillow just enough to hear him.

"We just boned, that makes us official, right?" He asks simply.

…And it is simple- for him- to bring up things that would make the average mortal explode in a ball of anxiety.

But then, I'm not the kind of guy that would make someone like Derek Hale nervous or insecure. He's the roller coaster and I'm just one of the lucky ones that got picked up for the ride.

"You really want a boyfriend? They're a lot of work." I reply carefully, tossing aside the pillow and resting my head on his shoulder. His arm wraps my back stroking lazy fingers over my heated skin.

"I've had boyfriends before, Stiles."

I wasn't sure about that. The way Derek had described his relationships made them sound more like flings and fuckbuddies. Not that I was opposed to the idea of being one; I didn't have any other options on the horizon.

I look up at him. "Derek Hale I'd be honored to be your boyfriend."

The mint chocolate eyes glimmer. It's not exactly happiness, more like… shrewd satisfaction.

"Good," he says, reaching for my spent cock and giving it a gentle squeeze. I think I heard it whimper. "You want to go again?" He asks.

"Could you give me a minute? I'm not fifteen anymore Derek."

His teeth nip the angle of my jaw. "I can make you feel fifteen again Stiles."

He disappears from my sight, and goes down on me with all the enthusiasm of a high school cheerleader, and like the air headed jock getting blown, using protection is the last thing on my mind.

* * *

We manage to keep our relationship quiet for a few weeks before the rumors start. Med school turns out to be just as bad as high school. Except at this point, people are so stressed with their own shit, they only have so much time in a day to preoccupy themselves with yours.

The fallout isn't terrible. I guess everyone just assumed the two gay guys would hook up eventually, and weren't surprised when they found out we had. Derek doesn't mind the attention. He gets even more of it now that he declared himself off the market—how that works I don't understand. He still sits with Lydia, Isaac and the rest of his fanclub during lecture. He still flirts outrageously. Not so much with the guys anymore, but with girls—with Lydia in particular—it's just gotten worse. Or maybe I just notice it more now. I have to hand it to her, she knew how to align herself with the right people. Everything she did seemed controlled and calculated. It was both terrifying and commendable. Though what Derek got out of his friendship with her, I just couldn't understand.

"She has perpetually startled Bambi-eyes . Guys can't resist them," Erica says, answering my silent turmoil.

She'd caught the distasteful glance I'd thrown across the histology lab but I think it was justified. Lydia was perched on the desk, and Derek's hand at crept up her thigh as she prattled on, for the sole purpose of driving every straight male in the classroom mad with envy.

Like I said he loves the attention. Nobody would give two fucks if he did that to _me_.

"I still don't get it," I reply, dropping the next slide onto the microscope. Even if I'd recognized Lydia's appeal, I wouldn't get turned on by it. I hadn't thought about girls sexually since I was in high school and my best friend had toppled through my window, asked me to be his boyfriend, then put his dick in my mouth.

"What's there to get? She's perfect. So is Derek. If he wasn't gay he'd be boning her and not you,"

"…Thanks Erica," I deadpan.

"Hey at least you get to fuck your crush," she replies, glancing at Boyd who, shockingly, was staring at Lydia like she was the only thing in the room. Erica gnaws the back of her pen until it's mangled.

She is in fact every bit the knockout Lydia was. Problem is she always showed up in rumpled scrubs even on non-lab days, and she'd missed that phase in life where girls learn about leave-in conditioner and flat irons and shoes that aren't purple Dawgs.

"They're comfortable," she grunts, sensing my tacit disapproval.

So are sneakers, but I choose not to point that out, because none of us look our best to be honest. When we weren't studying we were eating out of vending machines and mixing energy drinks in our coffee and pretending we weren't in constant state of heightened stress and anxiety—that sort of thing wasn't good for the skin, or the waistline. At least not for normal people. You did get supernatural beings like Scott McCall who ate whatever he wanted, never worked out, and still looked good.

I turn to the other side of the table and elbow my roommate in the shoulder. He awakes with a startled snort.

"Oh God, what did I miss?" Scott pales, wiping drool off the side of his face and looking between his notes and mine and the whiteboard in a panic.

"Nothing, look at this—I can't figure it out." I shift my seat so he can lean over and look through the eyepiece.

"It's an esophagus," he deduces after careful deliberation.

"Right, I know, but what's wrong with it?"

"I dunno, the glands look good."

"The glands aren't supposed to be there," Erica fills in. "This guy had columnar metaplasa to his GEJ probably because of long term GERD."

There's a pause, then Scott punches me in the shoulder, hard. "This is why I said we needed a study group! Everyone else is starting one this week- we are so behind dude!"

"_When_ did you say we should start a study group?"

"I sent you a facebook invite! And I wrote about it on my blog- you read my blog don't you?"

He's wounded. Damn him and his puppy dog eyes and his crooked jawline I've always found weirdly attractive. "Scott I love you but I don't want to read about the toppings you had on your pizza especially considering I'm the one that ordered the pizza in the first place."

He pouts and turns to Erica with hope in his eyes. "Do you want to be in our study group?"

"No."

"I'll talk Boyd into joining us?"

Erica pauses. "I'll think about it."

"Awesome!" he grins and bounces out of his seat going up to other tables; within minutes he has more people signing up for our lab group, because he's Scott McCall and he has a little of what Derek Hale has, that ability to make people do things for him. Only difference is that Scott uses his powers for good and Derek uses them to assert superiority.

A balled up wad of paper hits me in the side of my face, knocking the thought out of my head.

Fucking Derek, what century was he living in that he couldn't pull out his phone and just text?

…Of course, then he couldn't draw me a lovely picture of what looked like two dogs fucking. I think they were supposed to be people. I really hope they were people, but it's Derek Hale so you never know. I read the poorly scrawled words.

'Lydia's starting a study group. Meet us after class.'

I pull out my phone.

"_Already told Scott I'd be in his."_

He texts back._ "And this binding contract you signed, was it written your own blood?" _

"_Seminal fluids. If I breech the terms my dick falls off."_

"_I'm willing to make that sacrifice."_

"_And all my orifices spontaneously close."_

There's a long pause.

"_...I wish you and Scott all the best in your study group."_

I snort and toss aside my phone. I'm not sure where that had come from. Derek and I tended to keep school out of our personal lives and I liked it that way. It made the time we did spend together pure escapism and I needed that as much as he did. I cast a look over to him and he's finally left Lydia alone and returned to work. I pick up the next slide and do the same.

* * *

On the rare occasion that we chose food over sex and _good_ food over cafeteria swamp meat, we'd walk to a decent local diner off campus for a man date.

I can't call them real dates. He wore gym shorts. I wore sweat pants. On days like today, we'd just be too fucking tired to change so we'd both show up in scrubs.

I chew with my mouth open. He burps. We both slurp the last bits of foam from the bottom of our crappy root beer floats.

It's not a date.

The curvy brunette waitress brings us two checks, and slides my boyfriend her number, scrawled on the back of a napkin. Derek in true form pockets it deliberately in his scrub top, giving her a toothy grin and a wink.

I suck a little more noisily on my float but get only air.

"If you're so eager to slurp on something, why don't you get under the table?" He suggests.

I start hacking unattractively and Derek chuckles, reaching over and grabbing both checks.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I've gotta meet the guys for study group."

"No, I mean…" I motion to the crumpled paper in his fist.

"What? I'll get it."

"Why?" I ask, because in all the time we'd been together we'd always paid out own bills.

"I don't know, it's shit couples are supposed to do, right?"

"Since when have you been interested in being like other couples?"

He sighs. "…I was _so_ hoping you'd turn a twelve dollar bill into a metaphor for our relationship."

"I'm fine with the way things are Derek. I don't care what people think when they look at us."

"Well neither do I, so why are we arguing?"

"We're not."

"It feels like we're arguing."

"I need to take a leak."

"…And now it feels like you're storming off." He leans over and grips a fistful of my scrub top, tugging me back into the seat. "Look if you want to pay for your own lunch then go the fuck ahead. I don't really care- I just figured you'd want me to do stuff like that."

"Why?"

"Because out of the two of us you're the one who's been down this road! I know I said I've had boyfriends before but... it's not the same with you," he releases me roughly and leans back in his seat, running a hand through unruly black hair. "And it fucking sucks for me because it's like you have this map of where we're going but you won't show it to me, and you won't give me any directions. You just sit there and let me do the driving and give me these looks of disdain whenever I make a wrong turn."

I let the analogy settle in my gut. I had to give him credit, it was pretty accurate. It would also explain why we were dating in circles without going anywhere: he didn't know what he was doing. Boyfriend-Derek was no different from single-Derek, save for the fact that I was the only one he fucked. That's what he thought a relationship was—sleeping with just one person—and I'd done nothing to correct him on that.

"So let me drive," I reply.

"Go the fuck ahead," he says without hesitation.

"Right."

"You don't believe I can take a backseat?"

"You couldn't even if you wanted to. You're an alpha, Derek. You like things under your control—you're not comfortable with the idea of rolling over for me."

"I'd roll over for you in a heartbeat Stiles."

I blink, because again the words had fallen without hesitation. Derek Hale didn't bullshit. He didn't play mind games. If he said something he meant it—the problem was that getting him to say anything serious was like pulling teeth.

"Well then we can start here because this…" I reach over into his scrub top my fingers dig through two pens and a candy wrapper and pull out the napkin. "This can't happen anymore," I scrunch it in my hand and toss it to the table between us. "Flirt all you want when you're out with your buddies, but don't do it in front of me because you're mine Derek Hale."

The gaze he fixes on me is so heated I can barely keep looking at him. It feels like he's burning a hole through my skull but I don't blink. Seconds pass and my heart gets heavier and beats harder, and my treacherous cock starts to stiffen because his gaze dropped to my mouth like it always does when I get too close and he gets turned on. I can't believe how often and how hard I want this man, and suddenly I want him in a way I hadn't thought I'd want anyone ever again. The thought startles me and brings a flush of heat to my face.

"You want to fuck me," Derek says with an incredulous smile.

I don't deny it, but hate that he'd read it so easily. "Can I?" I ask brashly.

"I don't know, can you?" The smile is something closer to a mocking smirk. "You seem like a raging bottom to me, I've never once gotten the impression you wanted to top. If I had I'd have let you."

"You would?"

"Well clearly you need it if you're worried about stupid shit like me getting some girl's number," he laughs shortly.

"I'm not worried, I just don't like it."

"You need to mark your territory, is that it?" He grins wolfishly.

"It's not your thing though, is it?"

"Just because I don't prefer it doesn't mean I won't enjoy _you_ Stiles," Derek says with a shrug. "It won't be a walk in the park though, I haven't been topped in a long time, and I'll probably still need to fuck you after we're done because I don't see you lasting very long."

"I can last Derek."

"Maybe with other guys but you haven't tapped my sweet ass yet. It's practically virginal outside of failed attempts in high school." His gaze falls back to my mouth. "So, you want to come over to mine this weekend?"

I can already hear the thrusters in my head throwing into reverse. "Listen I…"

"For God's sake Stiles, it's just sex, don't think so hard."

"I've only topped one other guy."

"The ex?" Derek asks tonelessly.

I nod awkwardy. "Besides you he's the only one I've ever wanted that from, only one that that I've ever want to…"

"Claim," Derek fills in.

"Yeah, I guess. It's just that… it felt like I was hurting him whenever we—"

"No offense Stiles but I'm not too concerned about your monster cock splitting me in half," Derek says dryly. "But if it makes you feel better I'll loosen up in the shower before you come over. You'll slip right in, no big deal."

My dick jumps at his words, and I break away from his gaze to look out the window, trying to calm myself down. Honestly I did love getting fucked by him. I loved crumbling under his control, and I'd have been okay with leaving things the way they were.

"Stiles…" he says softly, reaching over and running his fingers up the back of my neck, raking through my cropped hair. I turn to look at him, he's got his elbow propped on the table, his stubbled jaw resting in a hand. "You know my hands literally start to ache if I go too long without touching you?"

I blink, wondering why he'd say a thing like that out of the blue but I don't have time to dwell on it as his fingers coax my head down into a kiss. It lingers longer than is publicly decent, and he uses more tongue than usual which makes he realize he's proving a point, not just to me but to anyone watching.

They're definitely putting our checks together after this.

* * *

By the end of first year, Derek and I had settled into a routine and were one of those couples everyone just assumes is destined for the altar by the time residency rolls around.

In reality we spent more time fucking than talking and more time studying than either of the other two. I hadn't fallen for him the way I thought I would. I guess experience has taught me to tread a little more carefully, look at the ground under my feet instead of the road up ahead. We continued to have separate lives. I spent most of my time with Scott and Erica, occasionally Boyd. Derek hung out with Lydia, Isaac, and occasionally Boyd. Basically the only thing Derek and I had in common was sex, and Boyd, who had gotten really uncomfortable when I'd mused this aloud the other day.

Over a long weekend, Derek had suggested a trip. I was broke and was nowhere near ready to tell my father I wanted to go away with the boyfriend I hadn't told him about, so instead I'd offered to barbecue a romantic meal on the roof of my apartment building.

"Hey Stiles, how many med students does it take to light a fire?" Derek asks, sprawled out on the blanket I'd dragged all the way up here while he had been dozing on my bed and being unhelpful in general.

"I've got it," I cough, waving flames of smoke that billow into my face. "We have neighborhood barbecues all the time back home."

"The instructions on the lighter fluid say not to—"

"Fuck the instructions—I can light a damn fire Derek," I rant. "You'll have your lunch in no time at all."

"…Not unless that twelve foot cloud of ash you're sending up is a smoke signal to the Pizza Place across the street. If it is, tell them I want the honey mustard with my wings."

"Listen asshole, I'm the sarcastic one."

"And what am I?"

I turn to him with an exasperated sigh, which wasn't a good idea because it made my brain short-circuit to find him shedding his white wife-beater over his head. Derek Hale spent as much time in the gym as he did in the library. He was getting more cut every day, which made me wonder who he was trying so hard to impress.

"Take a picture," He says in amusement.

I scowl at him and return to dousing the barbecue with lighter fluid. "Fuck you Derek. You never know when to shut u—uuhhh!"

I stumble back as a dull roar and a burst of light, and topple over Derek's outstretched legs and onto my ass.

"Hah! What did I say!" I exclaim triumphantly at the fireball. "Where'd I put the steaks?"

"You have to let it heat up, there's no rush," he replies, reaching for my arm and tugging me to him.

"I'm hungry," I make a feeble attempt to get away, prompting his hands to lock around my shoulders and draw my back to press against his hard chest.

"You're always hungry," Derek complains, pushing away the slightly longer hair at the nape of my neck and planting his lips there. "I had no idea how expensive it would be to date you. The grocery bills alone..."

"Hey if you're spending all your time at my place and eating out my fridge then you're paying half the bill."

"There is a way to lighten our living expenses considerably."

"I thought about it, but making a sex tape go viral is harder than you' think."

"I meant we could move in together, look for a place off campus. We could get by if we split rent."

I'm glad I'm not facing him just then so he doesn't see my eyes roll. First of all, Derek Hale doesn't need a roommate to make rent if he wants to move off campus. His uncle is very rich and very famous, and Derek could have whatever he wants whenever he wants it.

"I'll think about it," I reply.

"What's there to think about?" He asks, his knuckles grazing down the side of my neck.

"I can't just leave, Scott and I are—"

"Roomates. I'm your boyfrind and I want you."

…That was one of the problems right there. It was all just: 'I want you, I need you, roll over'. We hadn't dropped the 'L' word. Not that I didn't feel his affection. I felt it every time Derek smiled at me, and it made my fucking toes curl and my belly flop and all the stupid things you feel when you're fifteen.

The problem was, I wasn't fifteen. I was setting myself up for the rest of my life, for my happily ever after and I'd found myself with someone who lived a knee-jerk existence. Derek wasn't a planner. He reacted to things. Right now he was having a nesting urge- I could see it in his eyes. However just because he wanted to play house didn't mean we should shack up. Not yet anyway.

"You're doing that thing again where you think," Derek sighs. "For once can't you just—"

"One year," I decide.

"…A year?"

"Yeah. We've been together what, eight months now?"

"Eight and a half on Tuesday."

"Well then if we make it a year we can move in together."

Derek doesn't like it, but he's taken this whole me-in-the-driver's seat to heart. "Fine. You want to get a dog?"

"A hot dog? I didn't bring any, you said you wanted steak."

"No I meant we should get a real dog."

"No. No pets, and I have a dog anyway."

"At home?"

"No. She's with my ex. He took her when—"

"_Jesus._ Can I make a request?"

"To me or Jesus?"

"Both. I don't want to hear about your ex."

I raise my eyebrows. "I don't talk about him all the—"

"It sure as fuck feels like you do Stiles." Derek's grunts. "I'm sorry you had to lower your standards and sit on some hipster twink cock because you didn't have me around in all my glorious perfection—but I'm here now, so why don't you forget this rat faced turd who traumatized you with his tiny dick and focus on how awesome I am?"

I shake my head and release an incredulous laugh. "Derek Hale, you don't have a single insecure bone in your body, do you?"

"You like me vain."

I slap a palm over his face and shove. He laughs and lets me roll on top of him. I stare down at his stupidly rugged, delectably scruffy face and settle my body against his much larger, much harder one. He really was gorgeous.

And he really was mine.

"You want to fuck me," Derek smirked sexily, and I don't deny it, but I don't like how he can just tell either. I know when Derek's hot for my ass because he'll start humping me. I thought I was more discrete than he was but apparently not if I'm so easy to read.

"Someone might come up…"

"Did you notice I'm only wearing one sock? Besides, we both know this is going to last a grand total of five minutes, if that." Derek parts his legs and I slide between them, pulling down his weekend basketball shorts with one hand while he plops a generous helping of lube into my other—because while I'd hauled everything else up here, his priorities had been different.

"It was ten minutes last time- I'm getting better," I protest, finding his hole and slipping a digit in. "Besides it's not like I get a lot of practice."

"And whose fault is that? The first thing you do when you get horny is roll over and stick your ass in the air- how am I not supposed to mount you?" He starts rocking his hips back as I finger fuck him.

"…I like you mounting me, spreading me, letting me show you my hole," I let my fingers slip out of him and move my cock to the stretched entrance. "But I need this too. I need to make you mine too." I push my hips forward letting my swollen head sink into him, trying not to black out at the roaring wave of lust it sent through my body. I screw my eyes tightly shut and keep moving deeper and deeper until I had nothing left to give.

When I look down, he's flushed but still smirking.

"What?" I tremble.

"Your cock. It's so well behaved in my mouth but so wicked in my ass." He knots his fingers in my hair forcing me into a kiss with clashed teeth and wrecked lips. I start thrusting a frenzied uneven pace. His hot slick walls are squeezing and milking and persuading my dick to make a hot sticky mess inside of him and I'm already feeling my orgasm build. I rarely manage to fuck him until he cums, and even on the rare occasion I do, he's still half hard and needy and itching to bone my brains out. So when I spill myself inside him this time he waits patiently, let's me moan and shudder and hump until my dick softens. Then he pushes me off, puts me on my knees, and enters me slowly, but without a stretch because I'm still reeling from my own orgasm and he knows I won't mind the sting. He fucks me with rhythm, speeding up then going steady then slowing down long enough to make me beg before he finds my prostate and hits it like a jackhammer.

My arms buckle at the elbows. I bury my face into the blanket and ride out the rest of his thrusts, trembling and whimpering his name like nobody's ever done this to me before.

In all honesty, nobody had. Not like this, anyway. I'd never been with anyone who just knew when I felt the urge to top and would accommodate me without a second thought, then turn around just as easily and claim me back, like he wanted everyone in the fucking world to know that I was his.

His hand grips my cock and he starts jerking me off roughly, sending lighting-like bursts of sensation through me. My body remembers the last orgasm I'd had and was desperately clamoring for another, but I was too fucking exhausted. I was trying to tell him not to bother when he whispered something filthy in my ear and I felt a rush of hot liquid pouring into my ass, then another flowing out of my cock as my balls tightened and I came a second time. If I hadn't had a basic knowledge of how sex worked I'd have sworn it was his jizz streaming out of my dick in spurts because I hadn't realized I'd had any more to give.

"Stiles," he rumbles, and I can feel him smile against my shoulder, minutes later when we'd both come back down from whatever celestial plane we'd been on.

"Hmm?" I ask, burrowing my face into his neck and shivering at the breeze that cooled us.

"You know that you're… that I…"

I wait, because his hesitancy wasn't due to anxiety, it was just Derek checking himself, making sure he said exactly what he meant to say, no more and no less.

"If I could come home to you every day I'd be happier than a pig in shit," he laughs shortly. "You're everything good in my life Stiles Stilinski."

My breath hitches, a weight comes crashing down so hard on my chest it made my heart ache. It had taken some time for me to realize that his reluctance to share his feelings didn't mean he had an inability to express them. It's just that he only voiced them when he thought they were important, when he thought they needed to be said.

The words were left hanging in the air between us, raw and exposed and vulnerable even if the man who'd delivered them was none of the above. Derek had dropped his feelings like a grenade then walked off not bothering to turn around and look at the destruction it had left. Not bothering to realize I'd fucking fallen in love with him.

* * *

Thanks again for the fav's and follows and comments, I wasn't sure about sharing this, but I'll keep updating as long as someone cares to read! :D

Onto more important things for those of you buried in Sterek fic and haven't come up for air in a while 1. Vote in the AfterElton poll, 2. Get some cookies for the Sterek Campaign's call to love, 3. Go write something awesome for the Teen Wolf fanfic contest and when you win please create a hour long multimedia presentation/interpretive dance for Jeff Davis surmising why Sterek becoming canon would create global peace, stabilize world markets, and make us all extremely happy.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

I was never really good with girls in high school.

At the time I thought it was because I was a little spastic and loud sometimes my eye twitched depending on my blood levels of amphetamines —all things which surprisingly don't appeal to (and often frightened) the opposite sex.

But in retrospect, I figure much of their indignation towards me had to do with the fact that I was dating the openly gay captain of the lacrosse team. Of course they didn't see his sexuality as the reason why they weren't the ones who got exclusive access to his dick- apparently I was the one giant cuntblock standing in their way.

It was only in my senior year of high school that I found my first real female friend- a pretty brunette who'd had tapped my shoulder and asked me for a pen.

Allison Argent was as dazzling as any fairy princess I'd ever seen, with incredibly straight teeth and tumbling chestnut curls, but what I loved even more about her was that she wasn't trying to bone my boyfriend. We'd struck up an easy friendship, out of mutual need as much as anything else. Unfortunately her Dad worked for the FBI/CIA/MIB and had been called off to Washington deal with a serial killer/international spy/alien invasion. He'd dragged Allison off without warning. She'd sent me a facebook message that night apologizing for not saying goodbye, and two years later we were still writing to each other.

I'd lost touch with most of my high school friends after grad. I never thought it would happen so easily. It starts with skipping a few parties, then you're too exhausted to make it for coffee, and suddenly you're forgetting people's birthdays. Then when you do finally see them again, the only thing you ever talk about are memories from high school because that's all you have in common anymore.

It wasn't like that with Allison. She knew details of my life I probably wouldn't have said out loud to anyone, but tucked away in my room, alone and reflective I wrote things to her that I hadn't even told my roommate.

Scott McCall just got this dirty smirk on his face whenever I talked about Derek, and asked me things about gay sex that no straight guy has any right to know. Allison was actually full of good advice and didn't hesitate to give it, which is why when she said she was passing through town the same day I was moving into my new place with Derek, I was suspicious.

"And you're sure about this?" Allison asks as we empty the last of the Ikea boxes out of my old jeep. It had only taken four trips, but my back was already wet and my white v-neck stuck to it unattractively.

"No," I reply her question, handing her the box with chair legs and picking up the large rectangular table that I wasn't sure would fit in the service elevator.

"…If you're not ready, then _why_ are you doing this?" Allison asks, holding the door open for me with her foot.

"Because if moving in with him is what breaks us up, then I'd rather it happened sooner than later," I admit.

I wrangle the table into the elevator and Allison hits the fourth floor button. I'm silently praising myself for getting the thing into our apartment with minimal damage to myself when I trip over one of Derek's three amps.

Derek plays the guitar. I learned this yesterday. It's nice to know that after a year we knew each other so well.

I kick the thing aside so nobody else trips over it and dies. I really wish he hadn't brought crap like that to our new place but he didn't have a lot of stuff anyway. His entire life had amounted to two garbage bags of clothes, two boxes of books, an armful of Puma's and a binder of what I discovered to be song lyrics. I'd found it under his bed while we were cleaning out his old room but he'd snatched it from me so fast you'd have thought they were the nuclear launch codes. At least I'd finally figured out what he'd been scrawling on scraps of paper during lecture our entire first year. I didn't judge. We all had the little moments of escapism considering we were in class for about eight hours a day. I'd been known to slip a little Baileys into my to-go mug in the mornings, because sometimes you have to be a little drunk to make it through a two hour pharmacology lecture.

"Babe where do you want this!" Derek yells from the living room as Allison and I are unpacking my room.

"_Please_ tell me he doesn't call you babe," Allison snorts.

"Shut up," I mutter, though I feel a blush crawl up my neck. I swear he only calls me that when other people are around, and I don't know why.

Derek, Scott and Boyd are maneuvering the couch up against a window when I walk in, presumably because they want invoke the eternal wrath of the Gods of feng shui.

"Let's put that against this wall," I suggest, dragging the coffee table out of the way to make room. I stare unabashedly at Derek's ass as bends over to lift the couch, because I don't care if we're dating I still check him out all the time. I swear nobody in the history of life has made camo cargo's a black t-shirt look as good as he does.

"Y'know, it's a pretty sweet love shack," Scott says, falling back on the black leather couch and nodding in approval.

"I think I threw out my back," Boyd groans, bracing his hand against the wall.

"Does it hurt more on flexion or extension?" Scott asks, sitting up excitedly. "Also, are you having trouble urinating and/or maintaining an erection?"

"No medical bullshit, it's the weekend," Derek grunts, hurling a throw-pillow at Scott who thinks a second too long about which direction to dodge and gets slammed in the face instead.

"That's the thanks we get for spending all morning helping you two move?" He pouts.

"Well I didn't do it for free, Stiles promised us pizza," Boyd looks at me expectantly.

"And pizza you shall have- on me," I toss Derek my wallet. "Use the gift card Dad got us, and don't be too long or you won't get to say goodbye to Allison—also bring me back a medium cheese."

"Wah-chhh," Boyd makes an impressive whipping sound effect. "The wife's ordering you around already huh Derek?"

"Okay why am I the wife? You realize Derek takes it up the ass too?" I point out.

"And loves it," Derek grins at me, and it's like he punched a hole through my chest and started fondling my heart.

"Icky…" Boyd grimaces.

"There's nothing wrong with gay sex Boyd—it's a special, beautiful thing," Scott declares. "Speaking of beautiful things…" He jumps up and hooks an arm around my neck. "Can I get your friend's number dude? I think we really hit it off."

"You mean earlier in the elevator? When you said 'hi' and she ignored you?"

"Yeah! She say anything about me?"

"Are you kidding? She hasn't stopped talking about you."

"Really?"

"No. Get out of my apartment."

Derek grabs Scott by the back of his shirt and pulls him off me, brushing his lips against my cheek and telling me he'll be home in an hour.

When I return to Allison, she's folding my clothes while her phone blasts something broody but pleasant sounding.

"You don't need to do that," I say, snatching the pair of boxers from her hands. _Property of Hale_, it read in sparkling glittery print. Derek gotten them for me when a pair of my boxers had somehow ended up in Scott's laundry and he'd worn them by accident. Then he'd tweeted a picture of himself in them because he thought it was hilarious to aggravate my boyfriend.

"I can stick around for a bit—what can I help with?" She asks.

"How about helping me put together an Ikea wardrobe before Derek gets back and does it in like ten minutes?"

She smirks, reaching for the box cutters and setting to work. "So have you met his parents yet?"

"They're dead, house fire when he was like three—his uncle got him out."

"Jesus," her eyes fly open.

"He's alright."

"How is he alright?"

"It's not like he remembers it. I mean, he doesn't really talk about it," I shrug. Derek had said as much about the fire as I had about my mom's cancer. Honestly neither of us felt the need to expose raw nerves to each other for the sake of bonding, we had much better ways of accomplishing that.

"You do have a thing for falling in love with lost boys, don't you," Allison sighs.

"Derek's not lost. He had counseling and shit when he was a kid- apart from the brief bender he went on after high school he's on the straight and narrow."

"Bender?"

"He started a band with his buddy in Chicago," I tell her… and suddenly the guitar makes more sense. I hadn't really put two and two together— but what do you say when someone tells you they started a band after high school? I think it's enough that I didn't laugh.

"So who raised him? His uncle?"

I nod. "He's some politician in Illinois, Peter Hale."

Allison freezes. "Wait—Senator Hale? The Senator Hale?"

"You know him?"

"You don't? He's in the news all the time because of some scandal or the other—how he got elected I'll never know."

"Well he supports gay marriage which means he supports me boning his nephew, and that's pretty much all I care about."

"It's not like you're going to marry Derek."

I shoot her an annoyed look, "I might."

She gives me one of her 'I know you better than you know yourself and you're full of shit' looks before snapping in the last cam lock in place. We finish up the wardrobe sooner than expected then head into the kitchen. It was basically barren, neither Derek nor I knew how to make anything that didn't already have instructions printed on the side of a box.

"You want a water?" I ask.

"I'll take one for the road, I should get going." She replies following me.

"Any chance I can convince you to stay the night?" I ask handing her a cold bottle, and taking one for myself.

"You know me- never stay in one place too long, go where my art takes me."

She really was a wandering soul. I needed someone like her in my life, someone who dragged me out of the drudgery of med school and reminded me there were other things in life to think about besides grades.

"Well Derek will be sorry he missed you," I say, even though the two of them had no more than exchanged courtesy nods all afternoon. "I know you didn't get to talk to him much but I swear once you do you'll like him."

She sighs heavily, almost exactly the same way mom used to do, which throws me for a second.

"The question isn't whether or not I like him—how do _you_ feel about him?"

I lean back against the kitchen counter and grin. "…I feel like the fact that I get to see him naked is the universe rewarding me for all the times I recycled my milk cartons."

"And that's why you kept that photo this whole time?"

"What photo?" I ask taking a long drink from the water bottle.

"The one from your romantic getaway to Florida."

I proceed to splutter water out my nose and my eyes fly open. "How did you even…? I tossed that out this afternoon!"

"And I salvaged it. There's a reason you held onto it so long Stiles."

"…Because I forgot I had it, and it was sitting on my bookshelf for three years?" I reply. I'd been all packed and ready to leave for college when, in a moment of weakness, I'd tucked the stupid photo in my copy of The Road and tossed it in my bag. Incidentally never read The Road because I'd seen the movie and had been sufficiently scarred for life. Not Human Centipede scarred, but enough that I hadn't touched that book all these years.

"You still have feelings for him. That's why you're not completely sure about moving in with another guy and that's why you kept the picture," She decides.

"Oh Allison… I'm sorry but you're_ so _off base with this one. Where's the picture?"

"Somewhere safe."

"And your expectations here are what? That if I see it again I'll be reminded of my feelings for him and go running into his tanned chiseled arms?" I ask dryly.

"Yes…?" Allison says, shifting her weight between her feet uncomfortably.

"Well I don't need a picture to remember what he looks like or how I felt about him, or how it had felt when he abandoned me. I never thought I'd find someone else who made me feel the way he did, but I have, and this time I'm not letting go."

Allison nibbles on the tip of her thumb anxiously. "But Derek hasn't even said he loves you, and you two don't have a lot in common besides med school, and the way he stares at you when you're not looking is a little terrifying, and-"

I wrap my arms around her skinny shoulders and she shuts up. Eventually she hugs me back.

"I don't want you to get hurt Stiles."

"I know. Thank you for worrying about me, but I got this Allison."

After she left I finished putting away my clothes, then passed out on the off-white carpet, hands tucked behind my head, staring up at the chipped sky-blue ceiling of my bedroom… or office, I guess. It was a two bedroom apartment, but Derek's was the only one with an actual bed. Mine just had the wardrobe, an old desk I'd bought off a graduating student and a leather chair I'd gotten from some guy off Craigslist- which Derek had insisted picking up himself because he preferred I not be sodomized.

When I hear the key in the lock rattle my heart makes an unexpected leap and I can't help but crack a smile. It was the sound of Derek coming home. It wasn't the same as having a roommate. Everything about this was new and exciting and terrifying.

"Here's your pizza."

There's a sudden rain of pepperoni and cheese from above, slapping my once serene face with hot grease.

I gape, unable to form words.

"Oh, and your wallet."

I grunt as the worn leather whacked against my abdomen. "Wha- What the fuck Derek!?"

He's already stalked out the room. Incredulous, I sit up and look down at the state of my clothes—at the state of my newly steam cleaned carpet.

Then my eyes land on my wallet and a dull realization passes over me.

I reach for it, flipping it open.

Jackson Fucking Whittemore. I haven't seeing him in three years and he's still ruining my life. I stare down at the picture which is now severely crumpled. Years ago I'd have been distraught to see it in such a condition, and now I barely feel a pang of melancholy.

I remembered the exact moment that photo was taken. Jackson had handed the camera to some German tourists and had trotted back to me. We'd argued which one of us should stand on which side and finally went with him tugging me into his chest and wrapping his arms around my waist. His perfect grin beamed at me in a way that I'm sure would have made me swoon had he not been the same boy who'd peed his pants at my eighth birthday slumber party. Sometimes I felt like the only one who looked at him and saw an actual flawed human and not some lab experiment Disney concocted to get teenage girls wet. Not that I didn't appreciate his looks, I did, it's just that by the time we took each other's virginity in a tent at the lacrosse retreat I was already so in love with him he could have walked around with a bag over his head for the rest of his life and I'd have still wanted him. Not that that's saying much because the rest of Jackson was just as perfect as his face.

With a sigh I shake off the bittersweet claws digging into my heart and grab a paper towel to clean myself up.

Derek is sitting on the couch when I find him, staring at the wall, the tension in his shoulders radiating how livid he is- and I'm in no better mood after being shit on by a pizza.

"Hey asshole, it's just a stupid picture— you've handled my wallet enough to know I don't routinely carry around a picture of my ex."

He doesn't say anything.

"Allison put it in there. She found it in my room—I'd tossed it out this morning."

Still nothing.

"Okay, I'm going to unpack some boxes. When you feel like having an adult conversation let me know."

I attempt to leave, only to have a roll of duct tape bounce off the back of my shoulder. I turn back to him ready to chew him out but he's staring at the wall again.

I feel my heart clench. He's being childish but it's because he's hurting over something stupid and he's not used to it. I'm used to it. I recoil every time someone hits on him or smiles at him or blatantly propositions him right in front of me, but all it takes is one heated look from Derek and I know I'm the only one filling his thoughts and staring in his head porn.

I move towards my boyfriend, crouching down on one knee in front of him. He's stone faced, and the eyes that reminded me of an enchanted forest now appear like the woods little red riding hood wandered into.

"I swear on my balls Derek, I'd completely forgotten I had it. Jackson and I—"

"Fuck, I didn't want to know his name!" Derek yells, swinging his feet up onto the couch and laying back, his head propped on the arm rest.

"We have to talk about this eventually Derek. Like it or not he was a big part of my life. Back in high school-"

"Holy fuck Stiles—what part of this don't you understand!? I don't want to hear about him!"

"Well what do you want me to say?"

His hand goes to his zipper and flicks down his fly.

"Why don't you just shut up and suck on that," he says dismissively. "Can't think of anything else your mouth is good for at the moment."

I feel a sting in my chest. That had hurt, coming from him.

"How about telling you I'm in love you."

I turn around and lean back against the couch, muttering an 'shithead' under by breath.

"That… that's not fair," he barks to the ceiling. "You can't just pull that out of your ass to make this alright. I'm starting the first day of the rest of my life with you and I have to see _that_? God, no wonder you blew me off at first considering you had_ that_ notch on your belt._"_

I release an incredulous laugh, and stare at the blank tv screen. "Seriously Derek? Now you decide you're feeling insecure?"

"He was supposed to be the toad Stiles- I was supposed to be the prince. How the fuck do you think it feels realizing I was the toad this entire time?"

"The toad and the prince were the same guy moron." My head drops back onto the couch, knocking against his hip... and how messed up is it that it's easier for us to talk to each other when we don't have to look right at each other?

"And this isn't a fairytale," I continue. "This is my life, and I've chosen to have you in it, and you chose me back."

"Who the fuck says I have?"

"You _begged_ me to move in with you, buddy."

"The rent for this place is astronomical."

"You know exactly how many days, weeks, and months we've been together."

"I'm good with numbers!"

"You're in love with me Derek Hale."

There's a shift on the couch, and an arm wraps around my neck from behind, his rough cheek scratches against mine and he growls in my ear. "More than I've loved anything in my entire fucking life Stiles Stilinski."

I wait for the fireworks to start exploding out of my boobs when he finally said it, but this isn't a music video, so instead I feel warmth, and satisfaction, and a weird peace I can't say I've ever experienced before. Derek Hale loved me. I think I might have known that already.

"Took a hell of a long time for us to say it, huh?" I murmur, driving my nose into his neck and feeling his carotid pulse rhythmically.

"I didn't want it to come out like this," his long fingers reach for the wallet I'd abandoned on the floor, slipping out the crumpled picture of me and Jackson. "I wanted _this, _Stiles. I wanted us to go to fucking Paris or wherever so I could say it to you somewhere awesome, so that you remembered it for the rest of you life and so it would erase any memory of anyone else who'd ever said it to you."

"…Okay first of all that's not the Eiffel Tower, that's the France Pavillion at Epcot. Secondly, I don't need the romantic bullshit. That's not what you and I are."

"That what you were with him. Shit, Stiles... the way you're looking at him... you don't look at me like that. It scares the fuck out of me."

I take the picture from him and rip it apart, not with any emotion behind it, just so that's it's gone, permanently.

"I was a child Derek. I thought love meant flowers and chocolate chip cookies, but now I know better. Love is driving all the way across town for me, to pick up a chair from a guy off Craigslist."

"His username sounded rape-y."

"Chair_Guy24?" I chuckle.

Derek grumbles something in my ear, hooks an elbow under my arm and drags me on top of him in one fluid motion. I sometimes forget how stupidly strong he is, but he'll remind every once in a while. He'll grab ankles and wrench me across the bed, or slam me against the the nearest hard surfance, or lift me up so he can impale me on his dick. All things I enjoy.

…And I enjoy this too. Laying on top of him, on our couch, in our apartment, rising and falling with the breaths that enter and leave his chest.

After a few minutes the tension in his body subsides, and he starts asking me things he's never wanted to know about.

"How long were you with him?"

"Five years."

"Why did you two break up?"

"Harvard."

"Another guy?"

"No, the school. We'd made plans to go off to college together and get our MD's but three days before we were supposed to move into the dorms he told me he'd been accepted to Harvard. He'd never even told me he'd applied."

"…That's it?"

"He just left, Derek. You don't just leave someone you love because a better opportunity rolls along."

"Well it was Harvard, Stiles."

"Who's side are you on here?"

"The side that's terrified you'd figure out that what he did wasn't so terrible after all and go running back to him if I fuck things up between us."

"Whatever happens between you and me has nothing to do with my decision never to trust him again. I can't forgive him."

"Can you forgive me for dropping a load of pizza on your face?"

"How about I drop a load of jizz on yours and we call it even?" I brace my hands on the armrest and lean in to kiss him. I'd meant for it to be tender, but Derek breaks through my lips and and starts fucking my mouth with his tongue and all thoughts of tenderness escape me.

* * *

"Come onnnn, dude," Scott pleads while I squeeze my laptop into my overstuffed bag. "It's just her number, I'm not asking much here."

"Why don't you just find her on facebook?" I suggest, pulling out my pharmacology text and deciding to just carry it instead. I don't understand how things fit into my backpack in the morning but can't fit themselves back at the end of the day.

"I did. She won't friend me." He sighs dramatically.

"So what makes you think she's going to want you calling?"

"You owe me! I hooked our parents up didn't I?"

"Your mom drove in to drop off some groceries for you while my Dad was checking the tire pressure on your car and you said 'hey mom this is Stiles' Dad'," I say, hefting a heavy strap over my shoulder and catching myself before falling over backwards. "Exactly how are you taking credit for them hooking up?"

"You know if they get married we'll be brothers? Then you'll have to give me her number because brothers do things like that for each other."

"Look, I'm doing you both a favor Scott. You're a nice guy, and Allison likes the idea of relationships, just not being in one herself."

"I'll get you those new pharmacology flash cards?"

I pause. "If she asks, you didn't get it from me."

Scott grins in triumph, handing me his phone.

"And I want those cards by the end of the week," I say entering her number. "Pharm is kicking my ass and I really don't want to repeat this class."

"That bad? What did you get on the last exam?"

"Seventy-three," I deadpan.

Scott cringes as he takes his phone back. "Why aren't you asking your boyfriend for help? Where is he anyway?"

"Sick," I say with air quotes.

"Again? Man, Gunner has balls of steel. The rest of us are shitting ourselves and he's taking days off. Then again Lydia isn't here either—must be nice to just read things once and remember them forever," Scott sighs, waving to Erica and Boyd who were headed out the classroom holding hands. "Hey, maybe we should start up the old study group again? It helped last year."

"Couldn't hurt to try," I agree, though it'll be smaller this time around. Twelve kids had already flunked out.

Scott continues to talk my ear off as we walk down to the parking lot, but I find I miss the sound- I miss my roommate. I love Derek but he's not going to go down to the bar and play drunken fooseball with me, or make a makeshift fort and battle with nerf guns, or sit through a season arc of Naruto while I explain the complexities of a fictional character's love of his eternal rival who sorta wanted to kill him and everyone he knows.

But then, Derek and I do other important things with our time.

On the drive home I stop off at a strip mall to pick up sandwiches. They're not amazing or anything, but I like the place because you can text them your order then cut in front of people to get to the cash register and everyone gives you a dirty look but you don't care because you have sandwiches and they don't. Sometimes I worry I'm not the nice person I think I am.

"Hey!" I call out to the apartment when I get home. We haven't really found our version of 'honey I'm home'. Perhaps I'd get an answer if I said that instead.

I walk through the empty lounge to the bedroom. Derek's standing on the mattres, wearing nothing but iron man pj's and a pair of expensive looking headphones I hadn't seen before. His eyes are closed and nimble fingers slowly, strum that stupid electric guitar. He looks ridiculous, rocking back and forth to whatever notes he's is playing into those headphones. "Derek? Derek!"

Startled, he down at me and almost topples off the bed.

"Stiles don't sneak up on me like that!" he barks, leaning his guitar carefully against his amp… which I'm pretty sure I'd shoved in the storage closet when we moved in, hoping he'd never find it.

"Why are you home so early?" He asks falling back on to the bed and patting the duvet. I'd like to think he missed me, but his eyes aren't on me, they're on the sandwiches in my hand.

"Class was done an hour ago. Why does it smell like Lydia in here?"

"She was helping me with a song."

"In our bedroom?"

"The acoustics are—"

"Whatever. You want dinner?"

"_Dinner?_ How late is it?" he says glancing at my watch as I sit cross-legged on the bed in front of him.

"Late. Did you put on real pants at any point today?"

He shrugs.

I shake my head but hold back my disapproval. He's an adult; he can make his own decisions even if all he's making are bad ones. "I signed you in for afternoon lectures and I've got notes for you, but you missed the pathology quiz."

He grunts incoherently while unraveling the sandwich.

"You're welcome," I say as he sticks half the sandwich down his throat. Predictably my cock twitches watching him. I have a very low threshold for sexual arousal when it comes to Derek Hale, even when he's being an ungrateful dick.

"You want to hear ithe song I wrote?" He asks, mouth full.

I pause and wonder if this is what parents feel like when their five year olds draw them a shitty picture with crayons and they're forced to ruin the elegant lines of their fridge tacking it up with alphabet magnets.

"Do I want to hear the song you wrote with Lydia while you were playing hookie all day? _No._"

He shoots me an annoyed glare—the type of glare he'd never have given me when we were first going out. I can't decide if that's progress or not. Fortunately I know how to change that expression on his face. I smooth my hand up a soft flannel covered leg, kneading the heel of my hand in his crotch as he continues eating.

He moans faintly. For the food or for my hand I don't know. I take comfort in the fact that I'm responsible for both.

"I need to get fucked," I say quietly in his ear.

"I'm eating."

"And?" I ask, shoving him over—on the second try. It's no easy task to overpower him. Derek isn't a whole lot taller than me, but he's been to the gym more times than I've driven by one. He bounces back on the pillow, indulging me, because he's mostly concerned about the honey mustard oozing out of his sandwich than anything I'm doing. Eager to win back his attention I lean over his washboard abs and flick my tongue out to his hot, rough skin. The perfectly regular ridges shudder as I feast on each one of them, sinking lower to the patch of hair sticking out of his Iron Man PJ's. I nuzzle the growing mound between his legs and blow a puff of hot air over his awakening cock.

The crinkling of the sandwich wrapper stops abruptly and he releases a grunt. I tuck my fingers into his waistband and look up at him with what I hope is a seductive smile… but it drops when I realize he's busy texting on his phone.

I exhale a derisive laugh and shift off the bed.

"Hey where you going?" He asks as I grab the other sandwich.

"Just remembered I got some reading to catch up on."

"How long are you gonna be?"

I didn't answer him, just went back to my room and shut the door. I drop into the spinning chair then instantly regret it as my stupid hard on protests the jarring movement. I tried to study, but I didn't try very hard. So instead I flipped open my laptop, scrolling through the half dozen youtube videos Scott had tweeted me.

…But honestly, those aren't the kind of videos I'm interested in watching right now. I dig up an appropriately mis-labled folder on my laptop and scroll through the movies I had saved, finding the go-to I knew would get me off the quickest. I hadn't needed to do this since Derek and I moved in together, but if he wasn't up for it I had no problem taking care of myself. I click the video and was suddenly inundated with loud moaning. Hurriedly I hit mute and waited. When no steps came to my door—Derek was most likely strumming his fucking guitar anyway—I plugged in my earphones, unzipped my fly and settled back in my seat again.

I start tugging on my dick and skipped ahead to the part where the construction worker, who looked liked Derek, was tying up his 'shocked' foreman, who also looked like Derek. My ultimate fantasy, apparently, was to watch two Dereks getting it on. I honestly couldn't think of anything hotter. Well, participating would be nice, but I could barely get one of him interested in me let alone two.

I keep watching intently, stroking myself and letting my other hand squeeze my balls the way Derek 1 was doing to Derek 2, moaning obscene things to him that I wouldn't have wanted anyone saying to me, but in the little bubble of fantasy it was turning me on. My left hand abaondoned my balls moving up to tug and squeeze my flat nipples until they were hard. When Derek 1 force 2's legs apart I speed up my strokes, knowing what about to happen. I feel precum seeping from my tip and I moan with Derek 2 as he's entered roughly and without warning. I was riveted to the sight the tanned ripped body hammering into the 'unwilling' man under him until was screaming for it, and I felt the beginnings of what was going to be a mindblowing orgasm.

"Stiles when are you coming—"

I jump as the door is thrown open behind me and fumble to slam my laptop shut. "What the_ fuck_ Derek—ever heard of knocking?!" I'm breathing hard and heavy, livid that the orgasm I'd so masterfully coaxed to the surface had shrunken away.

"…What are you doing?"

"Pilates. What does it look like?"

He looks between me and the computer, then smirks. "What were you watching?"

"None of your fucking business."

I swirl around in my chair to face the screen again but his hand catches the arm rest and forces me to look at him instead. The grin on his face gets wider as it settles on my naked straining dick. "Stiles Stilinki you horny little fuck, when did I give you permission to touch what's mine?"

I swear I almost cum at the roughness of his voice, the hot breath at my ear makes me shudder. He grasps my right hand that had been around my cock and brings it to his mouth, lapping at the streak of precum running between my thumb and forefinger before sucking gently on the flesh. My cock starts pulsing uncontrollably.

"Can I see what you were watching?" He asks in a tone that would have made me answer 'yes' no matter what the question was.

He reaches around my back and flips open the screen behind me. There's silence that lasts for a moment longer than I find comfortable. When he doesn't say anything I feel a blush creep up my neck. I know exactly the part he's looking at—where Derek 2 is being torn apart mercilessly and not enjoying it…

"Um, it's a little brutal right now, but the they both enjoy it in the end," I tell him awkwardly, because the last five minutes is just cuddling and comeplay and alright there's some stuff with feet but I usually don't get that far.

Derek clears his throat. "You uh… you watch this kinda thing a lot?"

"Only when my boyfriend isn't paying attention to me."

Derek laughs, but it's a little loud and a little awkward.

"You're not actually weirded out are you?" I ask. "It's pretty vanilla compared to a lot of other stuff on the internet."

"Hey, I'm not judging…" Derek clears his throat. "I mean, it's definitely not consensual but you're into what you're into. I'm cool with it. I mean I love you no matter what you… indulge in. Not that I'm saying you do indulge in… I mean watching is… but you haven't actually…?"

For some reason he looks like he's going to pass out, and I chuckle lightly and cup his face. "In theory I wouldn't mind getting in between those two- in reality? No."

Derek swallows drly and nods. I grin, because there's an embarrassed flush that has settled in his cheeks and I've never seen that expression on his face before. I'd always figured Derek had a terrifying porn collection hidden somewhere, but then maybe this was new to him.

"You want to watch the rest of the video with me?" I ask. "This one always makes me hot for you."

Derek opens his mouth to say something, but when no words come out he simply nods and lets me swivel back around.

I pause looking at the youtube screen.

"Where's the porn?" I ask.

"Porn?"

"Yeah, the movie I was watching," I ask, clicking around to find I'd closed it by accident. "Oh, here it is."

"PORN!" Derek half yells, half laughs. "You were watching porn! Good 'ol guy on guy porn!"

I give him an odd look. "Yeah, obviously."

"Jesus—thank you!" Derek's eyes flicker up to the ceiling and it's the closest I've ever seen him come to praying.

"What the hell did you think I was watching?"

"That youtube clip you had pulled up."

"What clip?" I click back to the other screen, a video Scott had sent me. It was a chimp at the zoo, rolling around in the straw. "Jeez Derek, you thought I got off watching furry animals?"

"Stiles watch the video."

"What? It's a cute little chimpanzee playing with a… what is that? Is that a toad?" I frown, peering closer at the screen, then back up abruptly. "Derek what's the chimp doing to the toad. What's he doing with the toad Derek. Derek. DEREK?!"

His hand shoots out and slams the laptop shut.

There's a long silence in which neither of us even breathe.

"We are never having sex again are we?" Derek says somberly.

"Nope," I state. Then a thought occurs to me. "You seriously thought I was into animal porn? And you were going to watch it with me?"

Derek grimaces. "You really have no idea how much I love you, do you?"

"So why were you ignoring me?"

"I wasn't. It's just my best friend from high school was on the phone with his travel agent trying to book his ticket down here and he wanted to know when we had free time so he could meet you."

"People still use travel agents?" I snort. "Did you tell him we _never_ have free time?"

Derek's hands grip my shoulders. "You need to learn to relax Stiles. There's life beyond becoming a doctor."

…I've no idea when Derek had adopted that approach, but who was I to talk when he was still doing better than half the kids in class, though his title as Gunner would probably be revoked if he kept skipping... which was sad, because one of the things that had attracted me to him was the fact that he was the star of this little theater production we liked to call med school.

I sigh to myself, suddenly tired, and a little sad that my erection had died. "You want to go to bed?"

Derek considers it but then his eyes flicker to my laptop. "Am I the only one that kinda wants to watch it again?"

I give him a blank look, then thrust my fist into his rock hard abs, taking comfort that my knuckles had taken more damage as I leave him huched over my desk, gasping and laughing.

I'm going to kill Scott for sending me that link.

* * *

If you've made it this far, congratulations! That was a longer chapter, I'm just trying to get through the fluff so I can start the angsty man pain. Anyway, if you have a second let me know if you're still reading or if this had gotten waaay too AU for you...


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for the feedback and suggestions! The polite ones, anyway. For the few messaging me with exploding feels and saying you'll stop reading if I don't guarantee certain things, it kills the boner I have for writing to give plot away, but here you go:

1. Neither Stiles nor Derek dies

2. Yes they end up together in a cheesy rom com fluff-tastic way

3. Yes their ship will be set on fire and capsize into shark infested waters and other ships will try to hump them in their distress, but I refer you to #2

* * *

(Real) Chapter 4

I have an erection of unknown origins.

It's been on and off all day, rearing its admittedly attractive head but driving me crazy because I'd done _nothing_ to provoke it.

I wasn't even thinking of Derek Hale or Channing Tatum or Jon Stewart. I was just sitting in class staring off into space one moment and when I looked down, Stiles Jr. was waking up from his slumber.

I squirm uncomfortably in my seat, surreptitiously tugging at my crotch.

"Dude you have boner," Scott chuckles.

"Shut up," I hiss, because Finstock had stopped flipping through his slides and was now doing his walk down the aisle—which meant he was he was going to ask questions and I didn't want us to draw attention to ourselves.

Not that we weren't prepared. Scott and I had restarted the study group a couple weeks ago—with surprising new additions, Lydia and Isaac, who as it turns out, were just as stressed and afraid of failure as the rest of us.

Derek hadn't joined us but at least he'd stopped cutting class.

I figured things would get better after that, but they hadn't. I look over at my boyfriend grimly. Derek's ass may have been planted in his usual seat, but his head was somewhere else entirely. He's tapping his pen on the desk, not realizing how loud he's being since he's got his earphones in and is fucking around on GarageBand.

"Mr. Hale," I jump in my seat and snap my attention forwards, even though it wasn't my name that was called.

Derek furtively tugs out his earphones and looks up, because Finstock had used his booming I'm-about-to-ask-a-question voice, which I'm certain can be heard three blocks away.

"A mother brings her twelve-year-old daughter to your office. The child has had a two week history of progressively worsening fever, chills, cough, and headache, as well as scant sputum. The rest of the physical exam is normal except for minimally swollen lymph nodes, and she later informs you that the child's brother had similar symptoms earlier that month which resolved spontaneously. What is the most likely causative organism?"

Derek scratches that spot behind his ear like he does when he's annoyed. I think it helps him think.

"Asthma?"

…Okay so it hadn't worked that time. There's a ripple of uncomfortable laughter and Finstock's high rising spikes of hair tremble in indignation. "Incorrect. Mr. Ballinski, can you enlighten Mr. Hale?"

Fuck I hate that man, but then his glare is doing wonders for getting rid of my erection.

"Mycoplasma pneumonia," I mumble.

"Correct. Would you have included asthma in your differential?"

"No Sir."

"Why?"

"Asthma's not an infectious disease."

"I don't like one line answers to the question 'why' Mr. Balinski."

Seriously, I_ hate_ him.

I clear my throat. "From the history of a household sick contact and the presentation with fever and chills, I figured it was most likely an infectious cause, and mycoplasma is one of the most common causes of pneumonia in that age group. Nothing in the history was suggestive of the typical presentation of asthma."

Finstock nods, the only praise I'm gong to get it seems. "I want all of you to pre-read chapters nineteen to twenty-two. I'll be going through them pretty quickly tomorrow so those of you who are currently behind on your studying, expect to fall even further back this week."

_Four_ fucking chapters? I feel a rise of panic in my chest and Scott wordlessly holds up five fingers at me. I nod in reply. That's the time our study group is meeting tonight, two hours earlier than usual, understandably. There's also that pharm quiz tomorrow…. Jesus.

I walk over to the front of class, giving Lydia and Isaac my usual obligatory nod as they head out.

"Derek you should come study with us toni—"

I pause, realizing Derek's got his earphones plugged back into his skull and he's absorbed in his laptop. I reach over and wrench the earphones out his ears.

"Fuck off Isaa—oh… hi babe," the scowl transforms into a grin, which gets even wider when he realizes everyone's pouring out of class. He pops up out of his seat. "Thank God, I thought that lecture was going to last forever."

"I'm standing right here Mr. Hale," Finstock calls, wiping down the whiteboard.

"Sorry Dr. Finstock," I grimace, grabbing Derek's arm and pulling him out of class with me.

"What's the rush? We only have to be there in an hour," Derek says.

"What? Where?"

"The airport."

I stop abruptly. "_Airport_? Why?"

"To get Danny… my buddy from Chicago… the one who's staying with us?" He looks a little irritated. "I told you about this weeks ago Stiles."

"Well you could have reminded me," I reply, looking at my watch and realizing there's no way I'd be back by 5pm if we left for the airport now.

"I reminded you this morning!"

_That's_ what he was yelling about while I was in the shower? He should know by now not to talk to me when I'm going over antihypertensive meds in my head.

"Look I'm staying for study group. You go get your man friend, dump him at home, then meet us in the med student lounge. You have to study with us tonight Derek."

"What? Stiles the entire reason Danny came down was to meet you- blow off tonight and go out with us. He's only here two days."

"One of which is a Saturday, so we can all hang out then."

"Your fucking study group meets over the weekend too, so what difference does it make!?" he raises his voice abruptly, causing passing students in the hallway to give us startled looks.

I open my mouth, then clamp it shut. I feel like we're speaking different languages all of a sudden.

"Sorry," he says gruffly, his hand absently running down my arm.

"I didn't mean to push Derek but… you know eight kids have dropped out already? Your grades aren't what they used to be and… I don't think you're taking this seriously."

"Stiles, you don't need to worry about me." He says pulling out his keys. "Look, I need to hit up the store, we're outta milk."

"We have milk."

"I mean milk from a cow, not from a nut."

"What's wrong with milk from a nut?"

"It's unnatural. Milk should come from a cow. Nuts don't have tits."

"Teats."

"Teeth?"

"Udders I mean."

"Other what? Peanuts?"

"_Almonds_, not penis. Jesus Christ. I meant _penis_. Fuck me. Pe-annnn-"

Derek hooks two fingers in my belt and jerking me forwards. "Something on your mind Stiles?"

God, yes. I get a blast of his cologne in my nostrils and suddenly I realize where my boner had come from.

"It's your cologne!" I laugh shortly.

"Huh?"

"I used it when I got out the shower this morning—I've been smelling you on me all day, that's why I keep getting wood."

He frowns, his nose dips into my neck and he inhales. "You do smell like me."

"I really shouldn't ever use it agai—" The rest on my sentence is stripped away as Derek takes my hand and wrenches me to the histology lab where the first years are working.

"TA meeting. We need the room," Derek says abruptly. "Now," he clarifies and the first years scramble to leave, though I'm pretty sure they're aware neither of us are TA's.

Derek has his hand down my pants before the door swings shut. I won't say we do this routinely but it's a pretty well known location for screwing around because there's a latch on the door and you can hear people coming down the hallway.

…And Derek being Derek had sensed my need for him and had pounced on it. Literally.

I'm backing towards the table when his arms wrap my waist, lifting me up and onto the hard surface. I groan, as he strips off my shirt, "I really needed this."

"So why weren't you the one dragging _me_ in here?" A rough tongue finds mine and entices it into play. I feel the swell of heat passing between us, familiar and loving but still causing my heart to race. My knees lock around his waist, forcing him closer so I can massage his pecs through his shirt. He flexes delibrately under my palms, because if there's one thing that'll turn him on it's me appreciating the body he works so hard to maintain.

I roll up his shirt with a smirk. "You're getting more cut every day Derek. Eat a donut would you?"

"You like me ripped," he grins, crashing over me like a wave, slamming me back down on the table and drowning me under his tongue. We kiss desperately, grinding against each other until we're both breathless and shaking. Then he abandons my mouth, working down my body, scraping over my skin and leaving it red and raw and wet under his teeth.

"Shit," I gasp as he wrenches me forwards and catches my straining erection in a chasm of wet heat. He starts sucking slow and shallow pulses on the tip, his tongue softly rolling around the rim of my dick and growling vibrations down to my balls. When he inhales deeply I hold my breath because I know he's about to take me all in.

"Oh _God,_" My head slams back against the table and I restrain a cry of agony as he swallows me entirely, his nose presses against my lower abs and his five-o-clock shadow scruffs against my sensitive skin erotically.

I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him maul me like a bear at a picnic, running my hand over the back of his neck encouragingly, and babbling incoherently at him—_so hot_ and _please baby_ and _make it good for me_, and all those other embarrassing things that roll out of your mouth when its connection to your brain has been severed. When he sucks sharply my fingers dig into his skin and it's the only warning he gets before I empty myself in spurts down his throat, panting his name.

"Holy shit Derek," I exhale before his mouth is suddenly over mine—not for a kiss, but to drop his tongue between my lips so I can suck on it. My hands cup the sides of his face and I do just that, wondering if he has even the slightest idea how much I love being with him, wondering why I can't just man up and say it out loud more often.

"I got lube in my bag," I murmur to him instead.

"Not happening. I'm gonna blow any second, I was giving myself a hand under the table."

"You don't need to get me off again, just dick me and cum."

"You need to stop watching porn Stiles. You're my boyfriend not a hole."

"I'm your boyfriend so I'm _your_ hole," I reply.

"You really want to be leaking jizz during study group? Just jerk me off. It's fine. I gotta go anyway."

I never want it to be just 'fine' for him. I slip off the table and onto my knees before he can protest. I hold onto the unbuckled belt hanging off either side of his angular hips. "Jerk yourself off. I'll play catch."

I let my jaw drop, waiting. Derek stares down at me, eyes darkening and a blush spreading across his chest. His hand is on his dick but he's frozen. I lap at the tip encouragingly and he spasms as a small spurt of precum gushes over his head.

"Stiles—what the fuck am I gonna do with you?" He almost sounds angry as he cups the back of my head. He gives his cock a few hard strokes before he growls his release and cums in pearly strings on my tongue. When his aim falters my lips suction over his throbbing head, lazily suckling and cleaning, because I don't want him to be sticky on his drive.

He strokes my hair approvingly when he's done. "…And now I won't have time to go to the store," he sighs, tugging me up to my feet and swiping off the splatter he'd gotten on my chin. "When will you be home?" He asks, dropping his forehead against mine.

"I can crash at Scott's if you guys want the apartment."

"Stiles, you do get that I'm actually _excited_ to show you off to him? When are you coming home?"

"Look I'll try to make it back as soon as I can, its just all those Clinical Medicine chapters we have to—"

"Yeah alright," Derek sighs the way he does when he really doesn't want to talk about something. "Just come home when you can. If you're too tired to drive give me a call and I'll come pick you up."

I nod, moving in for another kiss, but his palm splays across my face.

"Do _not _get me hard again or we'll be here all night," he practically snarls. I can't help but smile moronically as I watch him put his spent dick away and make a hasty retreat.

* * *

We knock down the most-likely-to-be-asked pharmacology questions for the quiz then start on the reading for Clinical Medicine. Four chapters of brand new material turns out to be too much for any one of us to cover so we break it up into sections and divide the labor. Fortunately everyone showed up so we had six people, seven if you count Lydia twice. She assimilates information quicker than the rest of us, the same way Derek does, and it's a useful skill to have on the team.

…And I'll say it, I like her slightly more now. Especially since she showed up looking like a normal human being in sweats (admittedly designer) and frizzy hair (still fashionable), and no make-up (somehow flawless).

It's 11pm by the time we're done, and half an hour later I'm finally back at the apartment.

The powerful waft of alcohol almost knocks me out. I think I got tipsy just inhaling it, but I sober up pretty fast at the sight of overturned chairs, broken glass and a breakfast table that's missing a leg.

I swallow back a scream and kick off my shoes, something Derek and our guest had failed to do considering the tracks of dirt across our carpet.

I hear shattering in the kitchen before Derek stumbles out, drunker than I've ever seen him, somehow having lost his shirt.

He's clutching a bag of Doritos in his hands, very carefully trying to open it, and does a very nice job except that he got the wrong end and it poured out the bottom. He flips it around and stares into the now bag utterly confused before trying to stick his head into it.

"Derek," I say deliberately.

He jumps at the sound of my voice but spins around twice before finding me.

"STILES!" He says in utter amazement that I am home. His feet crush Doritos into the floor as he staggers over to me.

I drop my bag and catch him as he falls into my arms, stumbling back under the one-eighty pound wall of muscle. I hold him under the arms and with some effort rock him upright.

"I'm glad you're home," he murmurs, reflexively humping my pelvis, because he gets horny when he's drunk. Strangely he only ever humps me or the furniture, never other people. I don't dwell on what that means.

"I'm glad I'm home too, what's left of it at least," I say looking over my shoulder at the mess. "Jeez Derek, you know this is shit from Ikea, you can't just toss it arou-"

"Come meet Danny!" Derek says spinning me towards the bedroom which is sexy as hell when he's sober and annoying as fuck when he's drunkenly stepping on my feet.

A guy- Danny, I presume- is sprawled on the mattress. He's wearing plaid shorts and a pink polo shirt rolled up under his arms, holding beer in his hand with half the contents already spilled onto the bed.

"Hey dickbreath, wake up!" Derek yells.

Danny groans, rising like some sort of Island God from the blue duvet, blinking blearily and scratching his fingers over naked washboard abs. I really don't know how ripped guys always manage to find other ripped guys to hang out with.

Oh, right. The gym,

"This is Stiles," Derek says proudly breathing heatedly across the back of my neck.

Danny stares at me vacant eyed, swipes a hand over his face and when he looks at me again his dark eyebrows perk up suddenly. "STILES! Boyfriend Stiles!" he exclaims. "Wow, you're so totally…" he hiccups. Or burps, I can't tell. "…Prettier than that picture Derek took of you sleeping. You drool a LOT when you sleep."

"…It's nice to meet you too Danny. Say, we've got a really great futon in the other room, you're welcome to it. Any time. Now would be good."

"No that's alright, I'm fine—don't worry about me, I'm no trouble at all. Is there more beer?" He burrows under the duvet, because that's where we usually keep the beer.

…And shockingly a half empty bottle rolls out of the sheets. I launch over the bed to catch it before it sloshes over the carpet.

Unfortunately, Derek took me climbing into bed and presenting my ass to him as some sort of mating call.

He tumbles over me happily, drunken fingers trying to negotiate with my zipper—which he is too far gone to even fathom figuring out so I'm not worried. I deposit the beer on the night stand and slip off the bed, only to have him drag me back under him. He starts humping my butt. In front of his friend. It takes everything I have in me not to crack that beer bottle over his skull.

"_Off _Derek."

"I thought he was your boyfriend—why doesn't he want you?" Danny asks, reaching over my head to grab the bottle I'd placed on the nightstand. Instead of drinking it he stares down into it and must have seen something fascinating because he tilts the bottle for a better view and pours beer in his eye. I can see why he and Derek are friends.

"He does want me!" Derek releases a frustrated growl and flips me over, still straddling me."Stiles always wants me."

I reach for his hips trying to move him but he's like a boulder. I think he gives me a false sense of strength when we're fucking around in bed- clearly I can't make Derek Hale do anything he doesn't want to do. I try a different approach.

"I do want you Derek," I look up at him reassuringly. "...Just not with your best friend in the bed."

"That's okay, Derek and I share," Danny assures dismissively.

I flinch.

"He's not for sharing," Derek snarls, which makes me feel only slightly better.

"Good, now we've cleared that up—" I try to sit up but Derek brutishly pins me back down his hands heavy and aggravated.

"Gotta be in you Stiles," he says, almost sounding pained.

I grab his wrists as he reaches for my crotch. "Derek, stop! Get off of me, now." I say in a tone that usually gets through to him. This drunk, it has no effect on him whatsoever and suddenly his inebriated fumblings become determined and the mild level of amusement I've had for the situations disintegrates. He twists his hands at the hem of my jeans and wrenches so hard it drives his fists into my balls. A flash of pain and panic streaks through me like a bullet.

However a sudden _ripping_ stops everything.

Derek looks down confused, then bursts out laughing, followed closely by guffaws from Danny.

…Because wrecking the fly on my favorite pair of jeans is just hilarious. A-class humor.

"You are going to be in _unbelievable _amounts of shit for this in the morning," I promise, shoving him off now that he isn't thinking with his drunken dick. Their laughter only gets louder as I stalk out the room but I don't really give a fuck. My heart is hammering and my hands trembling because for one stupid moment Derek Hale had scared the shit out of me.

* * *

I jerk awake as my cell phone alarm goes off. It's the annoying one with sirens, which means I'd missed the softer, gentler one with chimes that I usually wake up to, set fifteen minutes earlier. Derek always mocks me for needing two.

Where is Derek?

My hand reaches out blindly but finds nothing.

Oh. Right.

I drag my legs over the futon, which had actually been pretty comfortable all things considered, and mentally prepare myself to walk back out into disaster.

My phone rings, mercifully delaying the inevitable.

"Mmmff," I answer Scott, taking for granted he'll be able to decipher my sleep-talk.

"_Morning to you too." _Theres a pause that's pregnant with triplets._ "Sooo… I don't_ _suppose you've opened that email from Admin yet?"_

"What email…?" I yawn, vehemently tossing aside the ripped jeans laying on the back of my chair and dropping down in front of my laptop.

_"Just read the email, and don't freak out or anything, but—"_

"Holy FUCK," My eyes fly open, any traces of sleep gone as I shoot to my feet. I lean over the desk, scrolling through the words that start to bleed together in front of my eyes.

"_Okay I said 'don't' freak out."_

"Why do they think I stole Finstock's final exam?!" I exclaim, my hand fisting in my hair.

"_It's not just you- everyone in our study group got that email."_

I'm reeling in disbelief, my hand braces itself against my spasming abdomen. I feel like throwing up because someone just swung a baseball bat at my gut. "How? Scott? Why?"

"_I dunno know yet, but read the rest. We have a meeting with Dean Harris in an hour. You know where his office is right?"_

"Yeah I... Shit, Scott, how can you be calm about this?!"

"_Seriously? I threw up twice before calling you. The second time my puke tasted like tears—I don't even want to know what that's about."_

"Who would have done this? I bet it's fucking Isaac. He's so fucking shady. Or Lydia—I've never seen her so stressed out."

"_Look the reason why I'm calling everyone is so we don't start pointing fingers. Just be cool until we have the facts, okay?"_

I drop back down on my chair like someone just pulled the plug on me. "Okay. Okay. I'll see you in an hour."

The nausea lingers even after I hang up. I head to the shower and turn the water to something close to scalding as my brain runs through every possible scenario of how this could end. None of them look good. I can't imagine the looks we're going to get from the other students. That won't even be the worst part- I think about getting expelled, packing up my shit and driving all the way back home. I think about the look on my Dad's face when I tell him what happened. Worst of all I think about seeing Jackson again and telling him I hadn't become a doctor, but had gotten ordained online and now officiated cat weddings in Vegas for a living.

"…Wow, calm down," I whisper to myself, sweeping the back of my hand over my eyes.

I wrap a towel around my waist and throw open our bedroom door. I pause. Like I didn't have enough to worry about; I'd totally forgotten about Derek and his man friend.

My gorgeous lover is passed out on the floor of our bedroom, covered in laundry, his cheek mashed into the carpet, and goo dripping out of a corner of his mouth. I know exactly what happened too. He'd gone to the bathroom to throw up but on the return journey had tripped over the laundry basket, fallen on his face and hadn't had the wherewithal to get himself back up.

Danny's on the bed snoring. Loudly. Maybe I should be more angry about this, but my head is clouded with anxiety and my heart is racing.

I shake my head and dig through the larger wardrobe we'd bought because Derek said it was weird that my clothes were in the other room. Personally I didn't think getting changed in front of each other was a good idea because it dissolved into boning, but he'd given me that wounded look and I'd caved like a teenage girl on prom night. I always cave.

I take a shaky breath and pull up my boxers before shucking the towel aside. What does one wear to a disciplinary meeting that could potentially ruin their lives? I pull on dark slacks and a shirt that looks the most ironed, perhaps slamming the wardrobe shut a little more loudly than necessary when I was done.

"Ughhnn…"

I give Derek a sidelong glace as he sits up on the floor, groggy, red-eyed and exhausted, and I fucking hate myself for the sudden urge I have to drop everything and take care of him.

"Stiles… what?" He asks, his voice dry and scratchy.

"Sleep it off Derek." I mutter, turning back to the wardrobe. I consider wearing a jacket and tie but I don't want to smell like desperation. I guess I look okay. A little tired maybe, but what med student doesn't?

"Stiles?"

The coffee maker bubbling to completion in the kitchen gives me a legitimate reason to ignore him, though his stumbling footsteps follow behind me. He stops abruptly in the center of the lounge.

"What the …?" He gapes looking around the battered apartment as I pour myself a cup of coffee in a to-go mug. I'd mentally blocked the overturned table and sprawling chairs, but the smell of beer soaking into the carpet is difficult to ignore. I head back to my room to grab my bag and he follows me.

"You slept in here last night?" He asks looking at the futon in confusion.

"There wasn't any room on the bed," I deadpan, heading back out to the fridge and grabbing a bagel.

"Stiles? Look at me, please?"

Despite my decision to ignore him, my entire body jars at the inflection of desperation in his voice. I had an entire shitstorm mentally prepared for him when I went to bed last night, but the truth I'm feeling sick to my stomach about being possibly expelled, and I don't have the energy to argue with him.

Derek's hands on my hips pull me in.

"Ugh, you reek Derek," I say using my bag to shield myself from his face. I hear his muffled sigh.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but Danny is my friend. Nothing happened last night."

"Yeah I know," I find myself replying, because somewhere along the line I'd developed a blind trust in Derek Hale. My real problem was the fact that he'd gotten so drunk he'd ignored me when I said 'no' ...But I didn't have time for that conversation. "Look, we'll talk later. I really have to go."

"Stay. Let me make this up to you—what can I do?"

"Since you're offering, could you tell the Dean who stole that exam paper and save me from being expelled?"

"What?" He rips the bag from his face with a stunned expression. "_Expelled_? What exam paper?"

"Never mind, not your problem," I say dismissively.

"Stiles just… give me five minutes, I'll come with you and you can tell me what's going on."

"If you want to do me a favor then grow up, take a shower, and clean up the apartment," I turn to the door, but pause before stepping through it. "And if you plan on getting that wasted again tonight, don't bother coming home."

* * *

The Dean Harris is ten minutes late. That's ten agonizing minutes we have to spend in the same room as Finstock, while several other staff members on the disciplinary committee look at us like we just raped a litter of kittens. Scott is staring in consternation at the wall. Erica and Boyd are giving each other anxious looks. Isaac is playing Angry Birds. Lydia is looking over his shoulder and praising him intermittently.

Finally Dean Harris walks in and we all get to our feet like he's some sort of judge or something. I guess in this case he is. He waves us to sit back down, then stares at each of us individually without even a flicker of emotion in his eyes. For some reason that's even more unnerving than him being mad. He has a peaceful aura I find petrifying.

"Thank you for being prompt." He steeples his fingers, leaning back in his chair, his gaunt face grim. "As you have been told, Dr. Finstock's faculty account was accessed last night in the student lounge and an exam paper was downloaded. I was told the five of you meet in that room on a regular basis and were there last night?"

We all murmur in agreement.

He nods sagely, thumbing through the folders on his desk. "You're all high achieving students with perfect attendance records. The truth is, I have no grounds to accuse any of you, other than the fact that you were all in the room at the time the paper was accessed. To avoid embarrassment, I'm going to give the person responsible the opportunity to step forward and show the integrity we expect from all our students. While the disciplinary committee is well within their rights to order an immediate expulsion, they may be lenient enough to let you finish off your year and transfer out to whatever med school will have you."

Nobody says anything, and each second of silence only adds to the feeling of guilt piling on us.

The Dean adjusts the glasses on his nose before proceeding. "I would like to add that you contribute nothing by protecting whoever did this. If someone knows something, I hope that you will speak up. Unless of course you were all involved."

There's a second pause.

"I saw Stiles on one of the computers," Isaac says suddenly.

I feel like the floor drop out from under me, and I whip my head around to him. I don't have words but Erica laughs shortly. "_Seriously_ Isaac? You're seriously doing this?"

Isaac doesn't meet our eyes, only shrugs. "What? I saw him."

"That… that is _not_ true," I turn to splutter to the Dean.

"If I may," Scott interjects. "Stiles is an Apple snob- I don't think he could even use a PC if he tried."

"I-I think I saw him on that computer too," Lydia says in a small voice, then turns to Boyd. "Right Boyd?"

"Right. Wait, what?" Boyd looks between me and Lydia.

I can't even speak right now. I feel like my throat has seized up- Isaac I understand, but Lydia? She's Derek's friend, what is she thinking? Now _Boyd._..

"Boyd, did you see Stiles using a computer in the library?" Erica asks tightly.

"Stiles's a good guy, he wouldn't cheat," Boyd says solidly.

"…Alright. Anyone have anything else to add?" The Dean asks.

"Sir, any of us could have done it," Scott states. "I figured you called this meeting because campus tech is still figuring out whose student id was used when the account was hacked, you're just hoping one of us will admit to doing it before you have to call us out."

The Dean smiles wryly. "Very astute Mr. McCall. Well then, if none of you have anything further to say—" He stops abruptly at the muffled screeching of his office assistants outside the door.

Suddenly my boyfriend bursts into the office, wild-eyed, out of breath and just having gotten out of the shower given the splotches of wetness on his shirt. He wheezes, planting a hand on the door frame. I can't imagine how fast he must have run to be panting that hard, because Derek Hale doesn't wear out easily.

"Dean, I'm… the one... stole the paper."

Fuck. Me. "Derek you weren't even in the room last night," I say between grit teeth.

"I was!" Derek snaps agitatedly. "I snuck back in after hours to get my… pen."

There's a pause, and he turns a little red.

"It was an expensive pen."

"Dude we were there all evening, nobody saw you," Scott says. "Just go man."

But he ignores us and walks up to the Dean's desk. "Look, I'm telling you Stiles didn't have anything to do with it—none of these guys did. I acted alone. You don't even have to expel me, I'll withdraw."

My heart leaps into my throat and I've launched myself out of my seat, gripping his arm and wrenching him to face me.

"Derek— shut up."

"No!"

His eyes are like a fucking gale storm, and I can barely keep my footing against the sheer force of it. He's not backing down. He needs to protect me and his compulsive nature is doing it the only way he knows how—stupidly.

"Fine Derek. Then why don't you tell us how exactly you got your hands on the exam?" I question, folding my arms.

There's a flare of alarm in his eyes that only I was close enough to catch. "…It was on the desk..."

"Close. It was accessed from a computer terminal," I correct.

"Top! Desk_top _computer," I meant he says to the dean.

"And remind me, what paper was it that you stole, exactly?" The Dean asks dryly.

"…The pharm final." Derek says slowly. It's a decent guess, just the wrong one.

The Dean clears his throat, which I'm almost certain is a cover for a laugh. "Mr. Hale, go back to class."

"But—"

"_Now_ son. If your name isn't on that attendance sheet in five minutes, you and I are going to have our own meeting."

Derek's jaw clenches and he slams the door shut behind him so hard the floorboards shake.

I return to my seat, my heart pounding at what he'd almost done. Derek Hale had been on the verge of throwing his future away for me. All I'd wanted was for him to recycle some beer bottles, change the sheets, and maybe buy us a new breakfast table.

For a few lingering minutes we all sit in silence. The Dean just looks at us individually, and I don't know whether to look back at him or to the floor. I'm trying to figure out which seems less guilt-ridden when the phone rings, making us all jump in our seats.

"That's campus tech," he says, though the way he said it sounded like 'that's your last chance'. He waits four agonizingly long rings before answering.

He says "Mmmhmm," a few times. "I understand." He then fixes his stoic sights on Isaac.

He doesn't need to say anything after that, because Isaac throws himself out of his seat, red-faced and outs himself.

"Whatever, expel me if you want- my Dad's the chief of Thoracic Surgery at Mercy, I could walk into whatever school I want." He storms out the door.

My fingers dig into the armrests of the chair to keep my hands from trembling with outrage.

"Well, that settles it. The rest of you may return to class," the Dean says, stacking his folders. "And rest assured, there will be no record of this inquiry in your permanent files."

I rocket myself out of the room the moment he dismisses us, catching up to Isaac who's slinking down the hallway.

"Hey shithead, a word," I grip a fistful of his leather jacket, shoving him into the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

"Dude-!?" He grunts as I throw him up against the full length mirror.

"You fucking liar! I grip his jacket, dragging him down to my eye level. "I can't believe you threw me under the bus like that!"

"Can't blame me for giving it a shot," he spits back with a baleful smile, and my fist is already clenched to wipe that smug look off his face. I draw it back but a pair of arms hooks under mine and I'm left punching thin air.

"Don't be an idiot!" Scott snaps in my ear. "Isaac, leave!"

"Let me go Scott—ISAAC get back here!?" I scramble after him.

"The Dean is down the hall moron— you want to get expelled for real?"

I release a frustrated animalistic grunt, before stilling myself. "Alright—I got it. I said I got it!"

He releases me reluctantly as the door cracks open. Lydia standing behind it looking alarmed and blameless and beautiful.

"Stiles I—"

"Do not speak to me," I shake my head. "You and I are _done_." I wrench the door open, not realizing she'd been leaning against it, and she stumbles forwards.

Scott grabs her by the arm before she concusses herself and looks up at me incredulous. "Jesus Stiles—calm down!"

"I'm fine," Lydia shakes him off indignantly. "Look …I… I made a mistake. I'm sorry."

"Suck my dick Lydia. Unless your mouth's too full of my boyfriend's that is."

…And I don't know where that had come from. I think I'd meant it figuratively. Either way she gets this look on her face like I'd slapped her and starts tearing up.

"Shit. Lydia—I didn't… I'm sorry," I'd just apologized to Lydia Martin ten minutes after she tried to get me expelled, but I don't care how gay you are, there's something about making a girl cry that shrivels your balls a little and makes you feel like you've disappointed your mother.

Lydia twirls like a figure skater and throws herself down the hall, leaving glittering tears in her wake. I've no doubt whose arms she'll be flinging herself into.

"You okay Stiles?" Scott asks, his hand at my shoulder.

"Yeah. Sorry. Look, can you email me your class notes tonight?"

"Why? Where are you going? What am I supposed to tell Derek?"

"Tell him I need some space."

"Yeah... I'm not telling him that. I don't have a death wish."

I roll my eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. Just tell him that I'll see him later and not to do anything stupid for at least the next 24 hours because I can only handle so much of his bullshit in one day." I stalk down the hall, but stop abruptly, turning back to Scott. "Thanks for having my back in there."

"Of course dude, you're my BFF," He makes a little heart with his thumbs and index fingers and places it over the right side of his chest. He pauses, looks down then sheepishly moves it to the left.

I smother a smile and walk away. We'd just dodged a pretty big bullet. I feel like I should be happier than I am but my chest feels tight and my palms are sweaty and I just need everything to _stop_ for five fucking minutes.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I'm looking for a beta reader, just another pair of eyes to catch typos, you'll get two or three pages at a time to look over so nothing tooo demanding, so please PM me if you're interested :D


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: You guys and your comments, I can't...just... come here * HUGS * This chapter has a lot of set up for future stuff, it's kinda uneventful... so no judgement if you skip over some of it, I'll never know.

* * *

Chapter 5

A stifling lecture hall was the last place I wanted to be. I knew what everyone would be saying- if Isaac had cheated then we all must have been in on it.

At some point today Dean Harris would be obligated to address the incident—which he wouldn't do directly. He'd interrupt lecture with a non-specific yet chilling reminder about the expectations of us as students and how doctors are held to a higher ethical standard, which would make everyone roll their eyes and cast peeved expressions in our direction for wasting everyone's time with this bullshit.

It might have been cowardly, but I couldn't deal with it.

So I'd taken off.

Of course _home_ was the second last place I wanted to be, which left the conundrum of wondering what exactly to do with myself. There were multiple blockbusters I'd missed over the last few months, so the movies were an option. I could also go to the bar and actually get a pool table to myself this time of day. Alternatively I could drive down to the beach and enjoy the view of ripped guys playing volleyball. They were all fantastic ideas and with my lethal organization skills I could pull off all three; the only problem was that each required a relative amount of funding.

I'd left my wallet on my desk this morning.

So, after sitting in my car outside my apartment building, nervously tapping my fingers to the steering wheel for ten minutes, I finally got the nerve to head upstairs. With any luck Danny would still be unconscious, or he'd have done the considerate thing and left. As I reach the nervous key to the lock, the door is thrust open, and a group of women, each looking like somebody's frazzled aunt, barrels past me with buckets and Swiffers.

"Shoes no go on clean floor!" One of the women in yellow overalls and a messy bun blares at me in a thick Eastern European accent.

"W-What?" Baffled, I duck my head into the apartment, my jaw dropping at the sight- pristine ivory carpets and sparkling countertops stare back at me and… yep, that was a new breakfast table. Not a shitty Ikea one either, one from a catalogue.

"Your friend, he tip nicely before he leave to airport, tell him we appreciate," she says sternly.

"Wait- friend?" I ask.

"In suit. Very tall, handsome boy. We go. You- no more party disco in home!" She slaps me on the back of my head before getting into the elevator.

Still stunned, I step tentatively into the apartment and feel my soul lift as a cool pine scent envelops me—and not like car air freshener pine—I mean like standing on top of a fucking mountain.

Suit, she'd said? So _not_ Derek. It must have been Danny. I smile dubiously to myself. The guy sure knew how to do an apology. I walk over to the sparkling glass-topped cherry wood breakfast table and pick up the piece of paper folded neatly with my name on it.

_"Dear Stiles, sorry for trashing the place. ps. There's something wrong with your milk. Whatever I had in my cereal this morning tasted like the devil's cunt. – Danny."_

My snort turns into a chuckle and evolves into a laugh. I flip the paper onto the desk realizing there's a flight itinerary on the back. His plane leaves in two hours. I grab my wallet and bolt out of the door before thinking too hard about it.

* * *

I had a cramp in my side by the time I raced all the way to the AA check-in counter. Panting hard, I whip my head around, eyes darting haphazardly down the snaking rows of bothered travelers who legitimately look like they'd rather die than hear the warning about unattended baggages one more time from the overhead speakers.

I don't see the face I'm looking for; the hopes I had of finding Danny Maelani sink like stone. I blame my disappointment on all those rom-coms Jackson made me sit through—they explicitly catered to the idea that if you ran fast enough and wished hard enough, fate would intervene and help you find the person you're searching for at any airport in the continental US. I suppose my next option would be to purchase the 'cheapest ticket to anywhere' and head for his gate, but then the rational part of me started screaming at the compulsive part of me, which caved under pressure and just gave up.

"You're a fucking idiot Stiles," I say to myself, spinning around and stalking for the exit, already cursing the machine that was going to be charging me seven dollars for parking.

"Yummy. Check out the suit," A voice traveling past me says.

I glance at the tweens in One Direction concert shirts and matching Prada roller bags staring at me.

Nope, not at me, past me.

I turn to find Danny Mahealani standing in line at a Starbucks express, completely absorbed in his Blackberry. I shake my head, a half grin breaking out on my face as I appreciate this one in a million shot that had just been dropped in my lap

…The girls had been right in their assessment of him. Danny looked nothing like the drunken asshole I'd left in bed with my boyfriend last night. He wore leather boots, a cream shirt unbuttoned at the throat with a coal black jacket and a pair of slacks that made him look eight feet tall. He really did stand out in a crowd. Why the fuck hadn't he taught Derek how to buy clothes?

I shake my head and jog up to him "Hey! I didn't think I'd find you."

He's clearly confused, and a little out of it. His warm chestnut eyes are just as red and exhausted as Derek's had been this morning. If he was anything like my boyfriend he was probably still hung over.

"…Well you found me," Danny replies with a tired but bemused smile.

I shuffle my feet, suddenly nervous. "Look, I realize this sounds ridiculous, but I'd like you to reschedule your flight and stay another night. I'd like to get to know you."

His dark brows raise and his gaze flickers down my body. "Sweetheart I'm unbelievably flattered, unfortunately I've got meetings… but if you're ever in Chicago give me a call, 'cus I could get to know you all night."

I pause, looking down at the business card he'd just slipped into the front pocket of the slacks I'd worn to the Dean's office. His fingers linger. I look up at him nonplussed and he gives me a sultry smile.

Fantastic, not only does he not recognize me, he's hitting on me.

"Danny, I'm Stiles. Derek's Stiles."

He does a double take, then wrenches his hand out my pants._ "Motherfucker!_" He yelps, startling a woman in line with her six year old, who glares at us like we were taking it up the ass from Satan.

Danny backs me out of the line until I bump into one of the tables. "Why the hell didn't you introduce yourself—_Jesus_. Give me back my card!"

I grit my teeth and flip it into his chest. "Clearly I was wrong to come here. Have a nice flight."

"Wait!" He side steps to block me, a conflicted expression clouding his chiseled face.

"I'm sorry, alright? You just startled me- I would never hit on you," he states categorically. "I mean- not that I don't find you attractive. I do, obviously. I'm just saying, if I'd known you were my best friend's boyfriend the brain in my dick would never have gone there."

I nod, unsure of how he wants me to respond to that.

"Is that offer to get to know each other still on the table?" He asks tentatively.

I sigh, glancing at my watch, "Your plane—"

"I'll reschedule, and I didn't check a bag anyway so it's no big deal."

"But—"

"Stiles, the entire reason I came down here was to meet you, and instead I made and ass of myself in front of you, twice."

"It's fine—"

"It's sure as hell isn't," Danny frowns. "Look what happened last night… Derek and I were just blowing off some steam and it got outta hand. I didn't mean to disrespect you or your home— I'm not that guy, I swear."

…God he sounds just as edgy as I feel.

"Honestly Danny, I want us to be on speaking terms. It'd be nice to get along with at least one of Derek's friends," I admit. "And about the apartment… shit happens. You more than made up for it—that's a really nice table, thanks."

"It was the least I could do; Derek was pissed this morning after you left. I've never seen him that worked up and I drove his Camero into a lake once."

I flinch, remembering the things I'd said to him this morning. "He was upset huh?"

"Yeah, like monkey-hurling-his-own-feces upset." Danny shudders. "Have you guys sorted things out yet?"

"No, but… that's kind of why I'm here. Derek was willing to do some moronically chivalrous stuff for me today, and I wasn't even willing to take an evening off to meet his best friend. I should have made you a priority and I didn't, and I want to make it right."

Danny nods, picking up his bag and slinging it across his chest. "Well let's go make this thing right Stiles—and for the love of God never tell Derek I tried to hit on you."

* * *

I'd expected the car ride to be Awkward City, but the minute Danny shook off his nerves and started chatting I felt at ease and the weirdness dissipated. He started regaling me with hilarious Derek-related anecdotes that really didn't fit into picture Derek had painted for me of his high school life. I wasn't really buying into Danny's stories until he pulled out his ipad and showed me pictures of my boyfriend from their online yearbook. I'd almost swerved into oncoming traffic I'd burst out laughing so hard.

The strong masculine features I so enjoyed looked uncomfortable on a sallow faced sixteen-year-old whose neck was too skinny and whose giant ears made him a legitimate flight risk. His eyes were the same though, too bright and minty brown, and unlike any color I'd seen on a human being.

I'd been so distracted listening to Danny, I hadn't realized we'd driven so far West until we'd run out road. The ocean had definitely been on my to-do list, so I didn't mind at all. I pulled into one of the less busier parking lots that actually took quarters and hopped out of the jeep, inhaling the sea breeze that seemed to penetrate me and wrap around my bones. I loved the ocean. I figured I'd come here all the time when I moved for college, but in the entire time I'd been at med school I'd only been here once. Scott, Erica and I had driven down for a extra credit Diabetes conference; we'd picked up our student badges, grabbed a few pamphlets... then had spent the rest of the day at the beach.

"Man, it's pretty out here," Danny says appreciatively. He'd tossed his jacket in the backseat, and we'd kicked off our shoes and headed for the sand. We were both overdressed, but I didn't care. I had soft toasty sand between my wiggling toes, and life for the moment was good.

"I still can't believe he lied to me- pretending he was some sort of jock in high school," I chuckle.

"Well he would have been if his uncle hadn't put all that pressure on him to stick his nose in a book," Danny replies rolling up his sleeves. "Wouldn't even let him join the football team…. which I guess was a good idea. Derek probably would have snapped like a twig back then."

"So what changed?"

"He left home, figured himself out."

"He ran away?"

"When you're a well known politician's kid it's pretty hard to run away," Danny grimaces. "He crashed at my place for a while, helped me start up the band."

"Oh God, you did that?" I snort.

"Hey, don't knock the Howlers—we had a good run until the bassist married our vocalist and they moved to Connecticut to spawn."

"What did you play?"

"I dabbled in a little bit of everything," He shrugs. "But that was in my youth. Now I'm mostly a behind the scenes guy for a label in Chicago, producing demo tracks for artists."

"How the hell did you land that job?"

"By being part owner of the label," he admits sheepishly. "My dad started up the business, took me on as a partner last year. I work for him now."

"…Well if you have the talent and a ticket into the game then all power to you," I say. "But a guy like Derek… with his skills, I'm glad he came to his senses and chose medicine."

"He chose you," Danny clarifies. "He may have gone into this med school thing because his uncle had pushed him into it, but you're the reason he stayed Stiles."

I shake my head, "Doesn't work like that. The shit they put us through… if you don't want it for yourself then you don't last."

"Well, what Derek Hale wants is a mystery to me. Part of me thinks he'd be happier sitting on an overturned bucket and playing his guitar for tourists on the sidewalk than trying to please everyone else."

On that we'd have to disagree. Danny might have known Derek back in Chicago, but I knew him now; his priorities were clear—and none of them involved giving up his dream to be a doctor to be a glorified panhandler instead.

When a pleasant tinkering sounds from across the bike path I perk up. I pat my pants excitedly, only to find them empty.

"Danny- tell me you have your wallet on you?!" I ask in a panic, realizing I'd left mine in the car.

He sniggers at my desperation, telling me he'll be right back.

I watch him jog off with a smile, completely understanding what Derek sees in the guy. He's like a breath of fresh air.

I settle back on one of the benches to wait for him, smiling at the breathtaking view in front of me.

Half naked volleyball players.

As shitty as this day was, at least it had ended well. The ripped blonde I'd picked out the moment I sat down pulls off his shirt and rubs down a sweaty rock hard body. He laughs at something is buddy is telling him, smiling with pouty girly lips and combing back tousled locks of ash gold hair. I half wanted to take him home and show Derek the pretty thing I'd found on the beach. Though I doubt Derek would appreciate my findings considering all he needed to do to see a flawless male body was look in the mirror. I watch contently as Abs McHottie launches himself in the air to knock a wayward ball with his wrists, his tanned rectus abdominis muscles rippling. He was like a walking porn movie. I let my gaze drop down to his crotch with a wry smirk. I bet he's hung too, the fucker. Must be nice to be perfect.

"Holy shit Stiles. I hope you don't do that in front of Derek," Danny's brows knit.

"What?" I ask, glancing up at him for all of one second before narrowing in on the vanilla cone swirling dramatically into the air and laced with chocolate sprinkles.

I make grabby hands at it and Danny hands it to me.

"…You don't even know you're doing it, do you? God, no wonder Derek's been bulking up. I'd be insecure as shit too if you were my boyfriend."

"Danny what are you muttering about? And where's your ice-cream?" I ask, chomping into mine without hesitation.

"You don't get a body cut like mine eating ice-cream Stiles," he grouches, uncapping his bottle of water.

"Jeez, what's with the attitude?" I frown. "And who cares how cut you are, you don't see me hitting up the gym."

"Guys with smiles like yours don't need to."

I pause.

That was legitimately the nicest thing a guy I'm not sleeping with has ever said to me.

"Thanks Danny."

He scowls. "Well I'll remind you that Derek has exclusive rights to that smile so don't go whoring it out to strangers.

I'm about to ask him what the hell he means when a ball of lime green streaks towards us. Danny and I reached out to block the volleyball at the same time. He ended up getting to it first, but knocked the ice-cream onto my shirt in the process.

"Shit!" I launch to my feet.

"Sorry Stiles!" Danny hands me a paper napkin which I take gratefully.

"Not your fault," I sigh, feeling like Shrek had just blown a load on me

"Whoops, that one got away from me!" I look up as Abs McHottie trots up to us. I contain my irritation for all of three seconds as he picks up the ball and gives me a gorgeous, apologetic smile. "Hey I'm really—"

"Terrible at volleyball? We noticed," I deadpan. "Why don't you and you buddies move the game further down the beach—there are kids and strollers and shit coming down this path, someone could get hurt."

The guy turns red-faced, mumbles more apologies to his feet and runs back to his friends.

"Asshole," I mutter. When I look back at Danny he's staring back at me with a confused smile.

"What?" I ask, still holding the sopping shirt away from my chest so it doesn't stick.

"Nothing… just… that guy was pretty hot."

"Yeah I noticed, yet no amount of epic mandible can make up for someone being an idiot. Believe me I know." I give up on the shirt, stripping it off and tossing it onto the back of the bench. "And seriously Danny, don't be so superficial. There are plenty of hot guys in the world."

I drop back down beside him and decline his offer to buy me another cone. I know I said I didn't give two fucks whether I was ripped or not, but sitting shirtless next to Danny would make the average human being feel a twinge of reservation.

"Stiles, can I ask you something personal?"

"Bottom. Usually."

Danny snorts, "Oh, I'm well aware of your sex lives. Derek describes it in great detail."

"That's not disturbing. What's the question?"

"You're in love with him, right?" How Danny's eyes could shift from lighthearted and playful to not-fucking-around so easily I had no idea.

"More than anything," I say honestly.

"And for the moments when he's unlovable, are you still going to be committed to him?"

My eyebrows raise. "You sound jaded Danny."

"…Maybe I am. I just don't want to see him get hurt."

Words Allison had said to me a few months ago. Derek and I really were lucky to have friends who had our backs the way they did.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" I counter.

"Shoot." He says taking a drink from his bottle.

"Have you and Derek ever hooked up?"

Danny spews water onto a passing jogger.

"Smooth," I chuckle.

"Where the hell did you get that idea?" Danny asks baffled.

"Well last night you mentioned that you two liked to share. I wasn't sure what that meant."

"It meant we fished in the same lake and threw each other a couple good catches once we were done with them, but it's not like we'd ever dined at the same table," Danny says, laying his arm over back of the bench and turning to me. "And for fuck's sake, this is the sort of thing you clear up_ before_ inviting me to your home. You seriously left your drunk boyfriend alone with me thinking we'd fooled around in the past?"

I shrug. "If Derek ever wanted to cheat there's fuck all I could do about it, but he's a good guy and I trust him. Besides even if things did go South he'd break up with me before it came to that."

"Holy shit, Stiles. Please don't ever say these things aloud to him."

"Derek's a big boy."

"You're his first love. That turns any _big boy_ into a raging hormonal tween."

I grimace. Danny's not wrong. I could tell the way Derek had fallen in love with me was very different from the way I'd fallen in love with him. He'd jumped off that relationship bridge head-first- blindly, fearlessly.

I'd used a rope ladder and worn a safety helmet with chinstrap, always planning my next step. I didn't regret being cautious. I already knew what it was like to just jump, and the pavement at the bottom was really, really hard and the sound of your own bones snapping wasn't something you could easily forget. Even when you did move past it, however well you healed, the minute anyone got close enough to look at an x-ray they'd be able to point to those old fracture lines and be like "Evidence of a Traumatic Fall".

"I won't hurt him Danny," I hold his gaze so he knows I'm deadly serious. "I know how bad it feels to get your heart broken. I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't do that to anyone."

Danny nods, apparently satisfied. We sit in comfortable silence for a while until the breeze off the ocean starts to get a nip in it.

"You want to head back?" I ask, grabbing my still sticky shirt off the bench and slinging it over my shoulder.

"I'm not looking forward to returning to the scene of the crime," Danny sighs, rocking up to his feet.

"But you fixed it, remember?"

"Not everything. I left some cash on the kitchen counter because I blew up your microwave, also you need a new remote control."

"What did you do to the remote control?"

"I blew it up in the microwave," he says sullenly. "I think I was trying to recharge it so I could mute the dishwasher. It made sense at the time. Oh, God, I'm pretty sure I tried to load some DVD's in the dishwasher."

"…Seriously, I cannot wait to visit you in Chicago and trash _your_ place," I smirk.

"You guys are welcome any time," Danny assures, tossing out his water bottle. "I'm gonna go take a leak so we don't have to pull over at a creepy gas station where some nice gentleman with a beard and a trucker hat offers to blow me and I actually consider it for a second because I'm so lonely. Meet you at the car?"

I nod pointing him in the direction of the nearest bathrooms before continuing up the beach alone. I pull out my phone, scrolling through my texts, the majority of which were from Derek wondering where I was, one from Scott telling me he'd emailed lecture notes, and a couple from a few people in class freaking out because I'd missed the pharm quiz… which I'd honest to God forgotten about completely.

I text Derek saying I'd be home in an hour.

When he didn't reply back right away I got a little antsy, but a couple seconds later he messaged saying_ 'I'm waiting'_ followed by a picture of his penis. I rolled my eyes informing him that Danny was with me, just in case he decided to answer the door naked, because that had happened one time with Scott with cataclysmic consequences. Scott had in fact burst out laughing, pointed to Derek's junk and blurted_ "your balls are so tiny!"_ …and then Derek hadn't spoken to Scott for two months. I basically had to create a powerpoint presentation complete with visual aids and interpretive dance to explain the concept of visual perspective to my boyfriend. It's just that his dick was just so huge and that the width of his hips more gladiator and less runway model, which is why his balls appeared small by comparison, even though they were in fact physically larger than Scotts.

…Of course that had led into the question of how I knew what Scott's balls looked like and I'd given up on the entire conversation and stalked back to my room, because it was the week of midterms and I had better things to do with my time.

"Hi!" A voice bursts onto the path in front of me.

I look up startled as Hotpants Mc… I forget what I was calling him. I fully assume his real name is Chad. He looks like a Chad. I would be shocked if his name _wasn't_ Chad. An ice-cream cone is suddenly thrust in my unsuspecting hands. I fumble with it before looking up at him surprised.

"I made you drop yours. I'm sorry." He says sheepishly.

I raise my eyebrows. "Seriously? Dude it's not a big deal. Sorry if I was a jackass earlier, I had a lot of shit go down today."

"Yeah I could tell. I mean you looked stressed."

"Thanks," I deadpan, but maul into the ice-cream anyway because I really hadn't had my sugar fix with the two bites I'd gotten outta the last one.

"No I meant… you look…" his face turns a little red and he suddenly he seems young. Like really young. Like I shouldn't have been checking him out young.

"…Uh, you go to school up here?" I ask, praying he doesn't tell me what grade he's in.

"I work at the auto repair on Lake Street—and I'm a waiter at Luster on weekends."

"Oh the bar with the blinky lights!" I say, relieved to find he's at least legal. "I like that place. Your lights are really blinky."

"We try to induce seizures whenever possible," he laughs.

"Actually photosensitive epilepsy isn't all that common."

He cocks his head in confusion. Seriously, Danny must have been the exception because I'd completely lost my ability to talk to most normal people. I maneuver around him with a smile, "Well thanks for the ice-cream, I'll see you around."

"I hope so, I'd really like to see you again." He steps over to block me, and suddenly he doesn't look so young anymore. He eyefucks me so hard I think he impregnated every girl in a five mile radius, but it doesn't have much of an effect on me. I mean I dated Jackson for fuck's sake, so while I appreciate a good looking guy, a pretty face wasn't going to fluster me... And his abs, while impressive, weren't Derek Hale's, and therefore weren't the ones I wanted to rub my cum all over.

"I have a boyfriend," I state pining five fingers in his chest and backing him out of my space.

"The suit? Bring him. I could use the tips," He winks at me, walking back wards a few steps before turning around and jogging back across the sand.

...Well that explains it. He'd seen me and Danny at the beach in our slacks and shirts and thought we had money to burn—and clearly he didn't mind flaunting what God had given him to get it.

"What took you so long?" Danny asks already leaning back against my jeep.

"What took you so short?" I reply, unlocking the car and getting in.

"There was a line so I peed on a tree."

"Seriously? Derek does that too. All the time. I'm pretty sure he does it even when he doesn't need to go—it's the weirdest thing."

"I kinda like it. Makes you feel one with nature— hey I thought you didn't want more ice-cream?"

"Muscles McHottie got it for me."

Danny does a double take, "Volleyball guy? Seriously? God I leave you alone for five minutes and the vultures circle… why'd you take it?"

"It's ice-cream."

"Yeah? Was it just the ice-cream or he give you anything else?"

"You mean other than Syphilis while he was blowing me?"

"Stiles, that's _icky_." Danny recoils.

I chuckle, holding my cone under his nose. "Have some, I swear you'll look just as good after a few bites as you do now."

Danny begrudgingly munches through cone and wafer, mumbling about calorie counts as he reaches into the back seat and pulls a shirt out his bag.

"Don't think Derek would like it if I let you wander around half naked," he says, tossing me the black v-neck.

"…Danny you're gonna make some guy very lucky someday," I decide, handing him the rest of my cone which he was eyeing, then throwing on the shirt.

When we get back to the apartment I'm only half surprised to find Derek face-planted on the table, sleeping soundly with a Cubs ball cap skewed over his head. His hangovers usually last a full 12 hours, and despite everything I feel a rush of sympathy for him.

He looks so peace-

"HEY DICKWAD!" Danny yells abruptly.

Derek awakes startled, "Wha—huh?"

"You've had a busy morning huh? Nice shiner," Danny's index finger tips up the beak of Derek's ballcap.

My breath hitches.

"Jesus!" I freeze at the sight of the bruise on Derek's face. "Who the fuck did that!?"

"It's nothing," Derek says embarrassed as I rip off his ball cap and grip his jaw furiously to keep him still. The mottled purplish skin on his cheek infuriates me.

"_Who_ Derek?" I demand raggedly.

"I heard what Isaac did to you and he and I had a...discussion," he shrugs. I release a strangled groan as I stalk to the kitchen, ripping an ice pack from the freezer. I toss it to Derek. "Put that on your eye—I'm going to go murder Isaac. I'll be back by dinner."

"Easy, tiger!" Danny grabs my shoulders and shoves me down into an empty chair beside my battered boyfriend. "This is Derek Hale. If somebody punched him, other guy's probably dead already. Right Derek?"

He's evasive.

Danny rolls his eyes. "Okay the boyfriend I understand, the med school I'll tolerate, but Derek Hale getting punched in the face and turning the other cheek? Did you fuck Stiles so hard you left your balls in his ass?"

"He's smaller than me," Derek says to Danny exasperated. "I can't hit something smaller than me."

"…You're an idiot," Danny and I chorus together.

Derek shoots the pair of us an amused smile as I pick up the ice pack and hold it to his stupid handsome face.

"So uh… when did this happen," his finger pivots the air between me and his best friend

"He let me lick his cone, we're cool now," Danny informs.

"…You I _will_ hit," Derek warns.

"Relax champ, the guy's nuts about you," Danny ruffles Derek's hair like a puppy, which I have never seen anyone do, ever. "I'm gonna take a shower—you two figure out what we're doing tonight. I don't care as long as someone's ordering Thai."

Derek grumbles under his breath as Danny heads to the bathroom.

"Does it hurt?" I ask, my own fingers numbing from the cold pack.

"It's fine—wait, what are you wearing? Is that Danny's shirt?"

"Oh, yeah. He felt bad because he got my other one all sticky."

"And can I get the whole story?"

"He knocked my ice-cream onto my shirt so he loaned me his. Are you entertained? It's quite the riveting tale of lust and betrayal."

Derek scratches the back of his ear and stares at the shirt. "You guys got ice-cream?"

"What? You wanted us to hang out," I remind him.

"Yeah, _with_ me," he mumbles unhappily, looking away.

I smirk, leaning forwards and tucking my head against the undamaged half of his face. He returns the gesture instantly. I'm pretty sure we do more handless nuzzling than most couples, not that I'm complaining. I love his stubble against my cheek, my nose buried in his hair or bumping into his throat. It's animalistic, in a sweet sort of way.

Derek's firm lips press against my neck. "I can't believe you went all the way to the airport and stopped Danny from getting on a plane."

"I can't believe you barged into the Dean's office and almost got your ass expelled."

"I'd do it again. Anything for you."

"What I want is for us to graduate together. That won't happen if one of us gets kicked out."

"You'll be happy, right? If we both become doctors?"

_If…?_

"That's always been the plan."

"I know," he replies, pulling back. "And I'll give you everything you want Stiles."

I frown slightly. "It's what you want too Derek."

"You're all I want. I could care less about the other shit," he says, sounding melodramatic, though I'm sure he meant it sincerely.

I know I had when I'd said similar things to Jackson, but at the end of the day he needed more than my love to make him happy. I didn't want Derek to wake up one day and realize the only thing in his life was me. I didn't want him wondering if I was enough.

.

After changing my clothes to prevent Derek's sulking and ordering Thai to prevent Danny's whining, we settled in for a night of Shark Week… until Danny admitted he was getting a weird boner, so we switched to The Avengers DVD, which gave us all weird boners, so then we just played the stupid party game that had wrecked our apartment last night—The Floor is Lava— which I was informed was just as entertaining sober, but less damaging to the furniture. Danny had thought it wildly unfair that Derek was constantly sacrificing himself to give me piggyback rides whenever I got stuck. I'd volunteered my services, but Derek said he'd prefer I didn't snap my spinal column, so he'd begrudgingly let Danny latch onto his back. They made it all of three feet before stepping into a bowl of dip one of us had left on the floor and wiped out dramatically.

When Danny left the next morning his absence was palpable. Derek and I had sat on the couch in silence. Frankly I was a little depressed.

"I miss Danny," I mumble unhappily.

Derek turns to me with that gorgeous smile, dropping down to rest his head in my lap. "I knew you'd like him. Everyone likes Danny."

"I'm glad I gave him a chance."

"I didn't think you would after the crap we pulled that night."

"What about the crap you pulled the day after?" I murmur, streaking a thumb over still bruised skin. "I can't believe you let Isaac punch you."

"I didn't let him- his fists are just so small and dainty I never saw it coming."

"I'm still going to kill him on Monday."

"He's an idiot Stiles. He made a mistake."

"By punching you or trying to get me expelled?"

Derek sighs, turning his nose into my abdomen. "Isaac's my friend. At least he used to be. If I'd been looking out for him this wouldn't have happened."

"You're not seriously blaming yourself?"

"No, I'm just saying… I can see how he got to this point. His Dad was putting a lot of pressure on him and he was struggling with the work… I could have helped him but I didn't."

I scoff down at him. "You're not the one that told him to steal an exam paper Derek." I start combing through his thick crop of dark hair comfortingly. He releases an approving rumble of satisfaction from his chest and sighs deeply. With Danny gone I guess now was the time to clear up some other stuff I was reluctant to bring it up.

"Listen about Lydia… I said some stupid crap—"

"She told me. It's fine, I know you didn't mean it. She's sorry too about-"

"Yeah it's... whatever."

…And that's the extent of the discussion. There are some things Derek and I just don't get into.

My mom.

His family.

Lydia.

Jackson.

Which one of us keeps leaving the fridge door open _just_ enough so the light streaks across the hall at night and we argue about which one of us should get out of bed and close it.

Then there was the most recent addition to the list of things we don't discuss- the thing that happened in bed the other night while he was wasted. My hand in his hair abruptly ceases its ministrations.

"What's wrong?" He asks looking up.

"Nothing. I'm putting on the list."

"What list?"

"The list of things we both avoid talking about."

"Huh?"

…Okay clearly the list was just a made up thing in my head.

"Stiles we tell each other everything. That's what couples do."

"No, that's what best friends do."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're my boyfriend. Sometimes I don't tell you things because I don't want to hurt you."

"Keeping stuff from me hurts me."

I flinch, his words driving me to my feet. "Look I shouldn't have brought it up—"

"Brought what up? You haven't said anything."

"Just drop it," I sigh. "I'm gonna get a head start on my reading."

Arms unclose my waist from behind. "Fine I'll drop it …But we haven't done it in two days Stiles, I need you. _Now_." He steers me to the bedroom, an odd reminder of the other night, but with vast differences. His hands are coaxing and sensual, sweeping over my clothes then under them with finesse and turning me on in a matter of seconds. I harden when he puts me face down in bed and pulls off my shirt.

"I'm going to fuck you _thoroughly_," his hot breath puffs the back of my neck.

"Or maybe I'm gonna to fuck you," I counter, elbowing him in the pecs perhaps a little harder than necessary. With a fail of limbs I flip our positions so he's face down and I'm the one shoving my dick against his ass.

…My junk was into it, but I can't say my heart was.

"Hell Stilinsky, not that I'm complaining but what's gotten into you?" Derek smirks over his shoulder.

The comment knocks the wind out of my sails, because I knew exactly what had gotten into me. With a heavy sigh I let my arms buckle, slamming us both onto the mattress as I drape myself over his muscular back.

"Uh…Stiles?"

"Let's just stay like this for a bit," I mumble, into his hair.

"...Awesome. You're a fantastic top by the way."

I swat his head and he chuckles, but doesn't complain. Of course he doesn't, because he's not some asshole who tries to shove me around to get his way. He's Derek. All I have to do is ask and he'd do anything for me. Sometimes I don't even have to ask; he knows what I want before I do.

I feel the boulder like muscles under my chest shift. How the hell had I ever got something this big and this bad to play kitten for me? …And he is playing. Whenever I throw him into a wall he's doing half the work by throwing himself into it. Whenever I roll him over it's only because he's letting me. Truth is I have no control over him whatsoever, and yet he crumbles in my fist like a dry leaf anyway. The thought sends a shudder through my body.

"Stiles, what's wrong?" he asks with an edge in his voice.

"Nothing…" I mumble.

"You're upset. What's going on?" He tries to look over his shoulder, but I put my weight on him to keep him down. It wasn't fair to him if I was acting like a basket case without telling why.

"Derek you know I love you?" I mumble to the nape of his neck.

"We're not breaking up."

"Can you listen to me for five seconds before leaping to the worst cast scenario in your head?"

"Fine."

"I love your hands on me—"

"Seriously, I'm not letting you break up with me."

I swallow back a sigh. I'm a coward if I do this without looking in his eyes. I push off him and ask him to sit up. He looks at me cautiously, mirroring my cross—legged position.

"Nobody's breaking up alright?" I say calmly. "I just have some things to get off my chest."

He nods warily.

"I think everyone's got their own ways of dealing with their shit, and if your way is getting wasted once in a while with your best friend then that's fine, it's not like you do it every weekend." I take a steadying breath. "But what happened the other night… it can't happen again."

"It won't—"

I hold up a hand. "This discussion will be brief. Just let me say everything I need to say, then you say what you want to say, then we're never going to talk about this again because it'll be a non-issue."

His handsome face creases but he nods once more.

"There was a stupid moment that night when you started humping me in bed and I asked you to stop and you didn't then you ripped my jeans, crushed my balls, and scared the fuck out of me for three seconds, which is three seconds longer than I'm comfortable with—and I'm trying not to dwell on it because I know it wasn't intentional but I just needed you to know that it happened, so you can apologize and promise me you'll never get so wasted that you can't tell when you're hurting me. We love each other too much to let stupidity like that come between us."

His face pales.

"…And obviously you're going to the worst case scenario in your head—and I'm telling you_ that_ would never happen. Firstly because we both know you can't keep it up when you're drunk and secondly because I could have kneed you in the jewels and slammed a beer bottle over your head if I'd really needed to. It didn't come to that. Honestly, I don't know how far it would have gotten, I'm just saying I don't want to find out." I end the sentence exhaling what little breath I had left. "Okay, I'm done. Your turn."

Derek, who'd been pretty much stone faced opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. "Okay."

I lean forwards. "I know I said be brief but I'm going to need just a little more than that."

Derek begins again. "Stiles… I would walk out that door myself if I thought for a second I could hurt you. Considering I would rather cut off my own arm and beat myself to death with it than leave you, I think you have some idea of how much I don't ever want to hurt you." He runs an unsteady hand over the back of his neck and looks up at me morosely. "Look I'm not a kid anymore. I know my limits and that night I intentionally drove past them because I... well it doesn't matter. It won't happen again. I'm sorry."

I feel the anxiety in my stomach unclench.

"Great. Okay. So we talked about it, and now it's done! Man we're nailing this couples' stuff, Hale," I hold a fist in the air for him to bump, but he ignores it. "Derek?"

"You're not afraid I'll hurt you again, right? I mean, you don't think about it? I don't want you looking at me and thinking I can hurt you."

My fist drops. Alright, that had seemed a little too easy.

"Derek I'm not afraid of you. Honestly if you were just some guy I probably wouldn't even have brought it up, I'd have just made sure I was more careful next time… but I don't want to be careful with you. I want us to get wasted together whenever we want to: next weekend when we're at home having beer and pizza, or at the bar for the awesome surprise birthday party you'll be planning for me, or at our wedding reception-"

"Jesus, _wedding_?" Derk asks strangled.

I raise an eyebrow. "…I'm sorry, where did you think this relationship was headed?"

"You never told me we were getting married."

"Well I'm enlightening you now."

"When?" He asks after a beat.

I shrug. "Some time after grad I guess."

"You guess? You can't ask me to marry you then not have a plan Stiles."

"I wasn't asking you to marry me. I was just informing you that it's part of my five year plan."

"…I haven't thought that far."

"Yeah I know, which is why dating you is exhausting. You live by minute to minute, and right in this very second I'm—"

"—You're the most important thing in my life and I'd die before letting you go. I'd take a bullet for you Stiles."

"…Thank you for protecting me from hypothetical bullets?"

"You don't think I'm being serious? I'd give up everything for you in a heartbeat."

"Awesome, I'm just saying, if we're smart about things _neither_ one of us has to take a fatal gunshot wound to the ass. Honestly I think we're in a really good place right now and I like where things are headed."

"The attempted rape notwithstanding," Derek's hand scrubs over his drawn face.

"Jeeeeez Hale, nobody was getting raped. I told you, you shrivel like an old banana when you're drunk, that's why you keep rubbing up on things, because you can't get it up and you get all frustrated."

"Banana?" He scowls.

"A very large, very masculine banana."

He's still displeased.

"Fine- a plantane, happy?"

Arms latch around my midsection, toppling me over onto my back and he buries his face in my chest. "If I'm with you I'll always be happy Stiles. You're all I need."

"…And a career, and a nice car, and maybe we'll reopen that dog discussion, and—"

"And nothing," Derek says, nipping at my skin. "I don't know why you don't get it, nothing else matters but me and you. Derek and Stiles. Der…iles."

"Sterek," I correct.

"…Ster-ek? Why does your name get to be first?"

"It's phonically more pleasant sounding than Dereiles, which sounds like someone choking on cum."

"Well… technically I'm the top in our relationship, so shouldn't my name be first?"

"_Oh my God,_ are you going to be this anal when we're picking last names? Because Dr. Stilinski-Hale sounds way better than Dr. Hale-Stilinski."

"I'd be alright with just being a Stilinski."

I pause. "What?"

"My uncle's got kids to carry the Hale name. You're all on your own—and you're gay, so kids won't be happening."

"You clearly haven't read my ten year plan."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind," I mutter, leaning back in bed. "Are we fucking or what? You got me all horned up, I think it's only right that you do something about it."

He grins and pounces, making a play for my lips but teasingly doesn't kiss me. I jump as a hot tongue traces my nipple instead. He nibbles at the tip, tweaking the other in his fingers. I squirm beneath him and rake my short nails over the back of his neck because I enjoy seeing the streaks of red there, knowing I'd made them. His wandering palms rub patterns over my skin, getting me worked up and needy for him. I reach down and tug the shirt off his back, loving the feel of the muscles that flex responsively to my touch. I work my way down to his hips, pulling down his sweats and freeing the cock that still makes my mouth water every time I look at it. I could ride that thing all the way to hell.

"You know I love the way you eyefuck me, telling me exactly what you want," Derek whispers. He drops back against the head board, patting his lap. "Get on, Stilinski."

I scramble into his lap and he catches me with an amused grunt. We both reach for the bottle of lube at the same time. I grab it first and immediately start working my own fingers in my body. He whines and tries to help.

"You take too long," I say whacking his fingers away as I slip a second digit into my body, efficiently fingerfucking myself and getting hard doing it.

"You don't do it properly," he complains, spreading my legs apart so he can watch. "God you look tight." He licks his lips and his eyes dilate.

"I am tight… and puckered… and wet…"

Derek groans, gripping my throat and pulling my mouth down to clash into his. He slips me his tongue, still sweet and fizzy from the soda and we kiss for a long minute, unrelentingly seducing each other.

"I'm ready," I pant, holding onto his shoulders. He guides me over his silky heat of his erection, and slots himself against my entrance.

Derek growls as my body clamps down on him."You never stretch yourself enough!"

"Man up and fuck me Derek," I groan, which was an excellent incentive because he gives a small but sharp thrust, popping his head into my ass and making it impossible for me not to sink down on his entire length. I wrap my arms around his neck as he buries himself in me, my heart beat tripping and stumbling excitedly like I was about to give myself an arrhythmia.

"Move Stiles," Derek begs quietly as he urges my hips along. I smile at his desperation and start sliding my body up and down his shaft, finding a steady rhythm between the bounce of the mattress, the roll of my hips and the drive of his hands. I hold onto the headboard behind him to give myself leverage to speed up and more room for him to thrust every time I impale myself.

"You're beautiful… and the way you fuck me is beautiful," he murmurs, dropping his head back so his eyes are directly below mine. "I could do this for the rest of my life Stiles."

The snarky comment about him not lasting the next ten minutes let alone the rest of his life never makes it off the tip of my tongue. He twists his hips slightly as he thrusts and suddenly he's bruising my prostate. I cry out in surprise at the sharp lust that tears through me and start slamming myself down on him harder. Derek's eyes screw shut and he makes noises I've legitimately only heard while watching Animal Planet and I feel my orgasm building just from the sound of it.

"Derek- Derek I need…!"

He knows already. His fist starts jerking me off and I gasp sharply, my hips rock faster and messier. Derek's skull slams the headboard and with a sharp cry he floods me, his fist squeezing my cock reflexively and roughly tearing my own orgasm out of my body. We continue fucking each other through the cloudy haze of bliss, slowing down steadily then wrapping ourselves in each other bonelessly. Our ragged breaths fill the air for an entire minute before either of us says anything.

"Soda break then go again in ten?" Derek suggests.

"…That's extremely optimistic," I smile as he rolls off the bed. "Make it fifteen- and pass me your laptop I need to see if Scott emailed me those notes. He's going to visit Allison this weekend, I don't want him to forget."

Derek hands it to me, muttering about my one-tracked-mind before turning around to pull on his sweats. I get an eyeful of his muscular ass as I open up the laptop.

A sudden achingly familiar Michael Buble song startles me and I look down at the facebook video playing. There's a blur of familiar faces and dresses and suits, and the clip pans to Jackson and I dancing. It was late enough into the night that we'd abandoned our jackets and were mostly just leaning into each other and making out.

"Fuck. Stiles—wait!" Derek lurches over the bed to snap closed the screen, but I'd already shut it, heat rising to my face.

"Tell me you didn't watch that."

He runs a hand over his face. "Look someone tagged you in a random prom video, and I clicked on it without thinking."

A bizarre realization occurs to me. "You said you intentionally drove past your limits the other night when you got wasted, this was why?"

"It was stupid, I'm sorry."

"No, just… it's really difficult to get rid of things on the internet. Some idiot always posts old shit from high school—"

"I get it!" He says abruptly. "Let's... put it on the list of shit we don't talk about!"

"…I thought there was no list."

"There's definitely a list Stiles!" He yells, but without any vehemence behind it. "Like how I've met your Dad exactly four times yet he's said about three words to me, and how you've never offered to come down to Chicago to meet my uncle, and how you_ still_ get weird about Lydia even though you're intimately aware of how gay I am, and then of course there's the problem I've had since the moment we started dating- you checking out _every_ ripped male who walks past you thinking nobody notices because you're so wildly inconspicuous but holy fuck Stiles—_I_ notice. God and YOU'RE the one that leaves the fridge open at night, but I always have to drag my ass out of bed to close it because you're so mindblowingly beautiful when you're asleep that I don't want to wake you but I don't want my milk to go bad either because normal milk has an expiration date not like whatever bullshit you drink in the mornings that has enough preservatives in it to survive a nuclear apocalypse!"

When he finally runs out of air he looks exhausted. Perhaps a little confused. He turns to me with a frown. "...Okay, you need to stop making me feel things. This is what happens when I feel things. Is this what menstruating feels like?"

"...Probably." I reply holding back a laugh. "Why don't you run down to the vending machines, grab us those sodas and clear your head."

"Right," he nods, but then he takes my hand and looks at me more sincerely than anyone ever has. "I love you Stiles."

"...Okay, you're going to the laundry room Derek, not Iraq."

"Say it back asshole."

I smirk affectionately. "I love you. Get me a root beer."

.

* * *

Thanks for reading! This one had a lotta rambling dialogue and backstory, next chapter has actual stuff happening, Derek meeting Jackson etc. so hopefully it'll be more entertaining.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: OMFG. I scored the Alpha of beta readers- this girl just_ schooled_ my ass in all things English. Massively huge thanks to **Nanoochka** ( Tumblr and AO3) for taking the time to help me, it's greatly appreciated. (And thanks to everyone who kindly offered to beta!)

…Btw to all you new followers, I totally stalked your profile favorites for fic recs over the weekend #I'm not sorry.

* * *

Chapter 6

I simultaneously love and hate the feeling you get after you step out of an exam. It's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, but at the same time there's that fear in the back of your head that you didn't do as well as you thought you did. It didn't help that I was getting suspicious looks from a few morons in the class who still thought I was involved in leaking the Clinical Med exam last semester.

Isaac had been expelled. Not because of the cheating—his Dad could have gotten him out of that one; throwing a punch at Derek Hale was what landed him a one-way ticket on the you-fucked-up train. I have no idea who reported the incident to the Dean, but I do know Lydia thought it was me. To say our relationship had grown even more strained was an understatement.

First of all, despite my words, I hadn't forgiven her for trying to use my ass as a scapegoat, and with Isaac gone—and let's be honest, a quarter of our class had flunked out by now—Derek's circle of friends had dwindled to pretty much him and Lydia.

...But I'm not thinking about any of that as I walk out of the lecture hall. It's the last day of second year finals and my brain is insisting to the rest of me that all is well. Mostly well.

"Hey, how did it go?" Derek asks, stuffing the remainder of his hotdog in his mouth as he hops off the ledge outside the lecture hall. As usual, he was the first to turn in his paper and leave. He doesn't like lingering and second-guessing himself.

"I don't know," I say honestly. "What did you get for the question about the kid with—"

"Arghh!" Derek recoils. "Not you too? Everyone dribbling out of that room has come up to me wanting to discuss the paper. Can't I just get a kiss from my boyfriend and celebrate the fact that it's our last day of Basic Sciences, and that our days of sitting in a lecture hall are over?"

I raise an eyebrow . "You have at some point _Googled _how med school works, haven't you? We still have lectures during clinical rotation—h"

"Stiles, please just shut up and put your mouth on my mouth."

I sigh, dusting hotdog crumbs from his lips before pressing mine lightly to his.

"Oh, and happy birthday." Derek grins.

"Thank you." I grin back. "And sorry for biting your head off this morning."

"Hey, at least I'll know for next time not to barge in on you with my guitar and try sing you a romantic birthday song half an hour before a final."

"Well, I saved you the hassle. How many romantic words rhyme with Stiles?"

"… You got a thousand different _smiles_, gonna comfort you through all our _trials_, let's go to Home Depot and pick out some _tiles_."

I pat his shoulder. "Your day job? Don't quit it." I move in for another kiss when an arm hooks around my neck.

"Hey—that wasn't as bad as I thought it would be!" Scott declares joyously. "Right, Erica?"

Erica looks like she just got hit by a truck. "Boyd's still in there," she says, dazed.

"He'll make it out alive!" Scott assures her before turning to me. "Okay, what did you get for the kid with the brain stuff? I said abscess."

"I said abscess too!" I say in excitement, high-fiving him.

"What? It was definitely an astrocytoma; his fever wasn't high enough to think abscess. What did you put?" Erica asks Derek.

We all turn him expectantly, and I can hear him groan inwardly. He may not be the Gunner anymore, but he's still objectively the smartest kid in class. These days, however, he hates giving his opinion on anything—a rare quality for a med student.

"Doesn't matter what it was," he says finally. "The question asked for the _'_next appropriate step.' If a kid presents with brain shit, you won't know what it is or isn't until you run a test—the answer was to do a contrast CT."

"Shit," I mutter.

"Look, can you forget about the exam? Your grades are high enough that you could have every sixth question right and still pass the class."

"He's right—just be glad second year's over!" Scott declares. "We have a birthday party to get to, right?"

"You don't care about my birthday, you're just psyched Allison's going to be there," I accuse. I don't know how he did it with just a phone number, but Scott was now full-blown dating her. They'd gone to Pebble Beach over the long weekend.

"Guilty." He shrugs pleasantly, then jabs his fists into my shoulder like I'm a boxing speed bag. "I'll see you later, broseph—I'm buying the first round of shots!"

Erica rolls her eyes and gives me a tight hug. We'd gotten closer since the whole Isaac incident; sometimes it takes bullshit like that to figure out who your real friends are. "Happy birthday, Stiles. I'm sorry I can't make the party."

"I think flying to Ohio to meet Boyd's family is a little more important."

She grimaces. "I'm not looking forward to it."

"I get that. Meeting the boyfriend's family was traumatic for me too."

"You've never met my—" Derek stops short when his brain catches up. Sometimes we spend so much time avoiding certain topics that I think he forgets they exist, and we end up in heavily awkward moments like this.

"Derek, you want to come home with me?" I ask once Erica heads back to wait for Boyd.

"I have to go pick up your cake first," he says.

"No, I mean tomorrow. Drive down with me to Beacon Hills with me. Dad's actually putting the old house up for sale this weekend, so I could use help packing up my old room."

"Why's he selling?"

I pause, searching my memory for a moment and realizing I haven't told him. "Dad proposed to Scott's mom on that couples' cruise. They're moving into a new place together."

Derek's eyes widen. "That's why Scott's been calling you broseph all week? Way to keep me informed, Stiles."

"Sorry, my brain's just been…" I gesticulate my emotions and he knows exactly what I mean. I mean, he lives with me and knows I turn into a puddle of disarray during exams. "So you want to come over?"

"You're sure?" he asks, itching the back of his ear, because he still thinks my Dad doesn't like him.

"Well, if you're gonna be a Stilinski someday, then yeah, I'm sure."

Derek looks at me and grins widely. Fuck, I love his smile. We stare at each other for a minute before he snaps out of the interlude.

"I'll pack a bag tonight—but right now I gotta go. That fancy-ass bakery Allison ordered your cake from is on the other side of town."

"Wait, isn't Danny's plane coming in?" I ask, looking at my watch.

"He's taking a cab."

"That's stupid. Go pick him up and I'll get the cake."

"You're not picking up your own birthday cake, Stiles."

"Fine, then I'll go get Danny," I suggest. "I want to see more pictures of mini-Derek anyway."

"Alright, but be at the bar by seven PM—no ice-cream side trips!" he warns affectionately before heading to his car.

I turn in the opposite direction and walk over to mine. I vaguely recall the days when he and I used to carpool, but for two people who had the exact same curriculum, we had vastly different schedules. I'd get up an hour early to pre-read, he'd come in at ten, leave for a three-hour lunch, then return for afternoon lecture. We'd sometimes do dinner together, but mostly he'd go out with Lydia and I'd stay in with Scott. When I got home around eight, he'd have my dick out of my pants before I kicked my shoes off, begging me to come to bed, which I would, because Derek Hale begging for anything is just about the hottest thing in the world.

"Stiles?"

I jump as Lydia pops up from around her baby-blue Porsche, scaring the shit out of me.

"Heeey, Lydia," I say with a tight smile.

"How did the exam go?" she asks politely, flicking golden-red tresses over a bare shoulder.

"Oh, I dunno. It came, it went, I think parts of it left without me," I ramble.

"Well, it must suck to have an exam on your birthday." She smiles sympathetically, pulling something I fully assume is a grenade out of her bag.

I brace myself.

It's not a grenade. It's an envelope.

"Please, take it. Consider it an apology—I know things between us have been tense, and frankly I'm sick of it. Derek's a really important friend, and I can tell that you and I not getting along bothers him."

God, I really never wanted her to be the bigger person in all this. Biting back my ego, I take the card.

Right off the bat, I feel like screaming because not only did she misspell my name, but she used flowing lettering which make all her Ds look like Ps and vice versa, which basically makes the card read "Haddy Birthpay Styles!"

I grit my teeth and politely open the card anyway. A little slip of paper falls out and my eyes widen. "Oh my God!" I say in surprise.

Lydia smiles. "I thought you might like it. It's a full three-month access to the online prep course for the board exam."

"Wow. This is… amazing." Way better that what my own boyfriend got me. I look up at her, incredulous. "Thank you, Lydia. You know Derek got me these stupid concert tickets to a band I don't even like—n _Chicago_. I mean, like, right in the middle of my surgery rotation, I don't know what he was thinking."

Lydia rolls her eyes. "I tried to talk him out of it, but you know Derek."

"Yeah," I say wryly. "Well, thank you, seriously—and listen, if you want to come out tonight...?"

"I'd like that, Stiles." She smiles her lovely smile.

* * *

I had quite the turnout of med students at the bar.

To be fair, most of them thought this was a post-finals party, but whatever. There was enough alcohol to go around and I was sitting at a booth with my closest friends, who were no longer the zombie forms of themselves now the crushing dread of exams had passed.

Scott, in true form, purchased the first round of shots before convincing Allison to dance with him. She'd been more than happy to leave her seat opposite Derek, who'd basically been ignoring her since she arrived twenty minutes ago. I honestly don't know what's going on there, but I've never seen two personalities rub each other the wrong way so successfully. They were clearly archenemies in a former life or something, because that's the only feasible explanation I can come up with. Well, that and Allison still acts like my relationship with Derek is a temporary stop on the way to Jacksonville. Not that she ever says it out loud, but clearly Derek's picking up on something.

The birthday texts start rolling in towards the end of the evening as people check their Facebooks. Most are messages from high school friends and family members, but then there are the randoms who wouldn't know my name, let alone remember my birthday, were it not for the internet. I mean, some relationships only exist in the moment and those people are_ meant_ to drift in and out of your life, but Facebook has created a stagnant pool of people you can never seem to shake.

"Are you done yet?" Derek grumbles in my ear, tugging me closer on the dance floor. We aren't dancing so much as propping each other up. I'm comfortably buzzed from all the birthday shots I've been doing, but Derek has stuck to beer because he said he didn't want us to end the night wrapped around a tree. Also because the things he plans to do to me tonight require a certain amount of lucid dexterity—needless to say, we'd never had a repeat incident of the night Danny first came to visit.

"I'm done," I say apologetically. My battery is dying anyway, so I pocket the phone and wind my arms around his neck, returning to the slow and sensual make-out session we'd been engaging in before my phone blew up. There are multiple couples—and strangers—doing the same thing, so I try not to feel weird about kissing him. You'd think after all this time I'd be comfortable it, but when Derek gets into it there's nothing sweet about his mouth. He kisses me the same way he does in private, when his cock is buried inside me and the idea of anyone looking at us throws me… but it's my birthday and I deserve nice things, so I shut up and enjoy it.

When we return to the corner booth, hot and sweaty, I smile at the sight of the mangled remnants of birthday cake on the table. It was once the shape of a pair of boxers, with a delightful erection laying proudly over the surface with a whipped cream-filled head. It basically topped any other gift I'd been given that day—sorry, Lydia.

I shuffle in the booth languidly, arching my back against Derek's chest and rolling my shoulders against his pecs. He's decked in dark colors tonight and looks as sensational as he feels. "Your body is like a concrete wall, Derek. It's such a fucking turn on, you have no idea," I sigh in contentment.

"You're delightfully blunt when you've been drinking." He smirks, tugging me even closer and scrubbing his scuff on my cheek.

"Wow, I wish I had a boyfriend to be gross with," Danny huffs from across the table, looking absolutely miserable. "I'm sorry, but could we have at least gone to a gay club? This place is so… _pedestrian_. There's only so much flannel and Old Spice guy can take." I sympathize with him. Danny certainly doesn't fit in with his van stripe tank from Nordstrom and Cartier wrist watch. Not that I didn't step it up a little for my birthday. Given the fact that Derek's hand didn't leave my ass the entire time we were on the dance floor, I can tell he appreciates my new jeans, even though they've been suffocating my balls all night.

"I can't take him to gay bars," Derek responds to Danny's question, kneading the back of my neck. "We're still working through the little problem of his _wandering eyes_."

"I don't see how you can blame me for something I didn't even realize I was doing," I say defensively. "Besides, _you're_ the one that gets blatantly propositioned. I don't know how sticking my tongue in your mouth isn't an indication that you're taken."

"Guys are pigs," Danny agrees pensively. "Nobody believes in old-fashioned courtship anymore."

"I courted!" Derek retorts.

"Uhh, you cornered me in a room full of dead bodies and basically said we both like dick, so we should give it a shot," I remind him.

He smiles smugly, leaning over and nipping the tip of my nose. "Well it worked, didn't it?"

"Ugh! You two are disgusting. Why can't I find someone to be disgusting with?" Danny groans. "I've been putting the moves on that Scott guy all night, letting him talk my ear off about fucking fungus or something, but the minute the cute brunette showed up he ignored me. I mean, look at my face—who ignores this?"

"Straight guys," Derek and I chorus.

Danny shakes his head with a sigh, looking around the bar to where the live band just stepped off to take a break.

"Derek, you wanna…" he nods towards the stage and plays a little air guitar. "I'll pay 'em off to let us use the gear, like we used to do in high school."

"We're not in high school," Derek deadpans.

"C'monnnn, you said you jammed with that Lydia girl all the time, she can sing for us."

"_Jammed…? _Jesus, you guys aren't the Beatles," I snort, glancing in Lydia's general direction. She's at the bar with a few students, graciously volleying the attentions of the drunken assholes who are hitting on her. Somehow even when they get shot down, they still walk away smiling goofily.

"Alright, fine, we weren't the Beatles, but we had a good run there for a bit—besides, just because Derek's doctoring up doesn't mean he can't have hobbies," Danny counters.

He clearly hasn't met many med students. Most of us have promising athletic, musical, artistic, or anime-watching skills, but all of that sort of dies once you make a commitment to "doctoring up."

"Looks like Scott's heading back anyway. Would you mind if I…?" Derek asks me, nodding to the stage.

I raise my eyebrows. He actually_ wants_ to play the guitar in front of everyone we know? "Oh... Yeah, sure, go ahead." I say, genuinely surprised. Until now he's been content to strum his guitar behind a closed door, which, honestly, is where I'd prefer it stayed.

"Be right back," he promises, pressing a kiss to my temple before slipping out of the booth.

A few moments later, Scott slides in to take his place and leans over the messy table excitedly. "Dude, Allison totally made out with me in public—what did I say? Did I not say I'd get the girl?" Scott tries to high-five me.

"Dude, I'm not high-fiving you for that," I snort.

"Also I'm, like, right here," Allison says, slapping Scott over the head and tossing me an apologetic look as she takes the seat opposite me. "So is Derek just avoiding me in general, or what?" she asks dryly.

"Why don't you guys get along?" Scott asks, puzzled. "Derek's awesome, you're awesome, Stiles and I are gonna be bros for real soon, so it'd make the family gatherings less awkward if you two just got along."

"Speaking of family gatherings, Derek's coming down to Beacon Hills with us tomorrow."

"What?" Scott frowns, then his eyes fly open. "Oh God, they're getting back from the cruise this weekend! I completely spaced, man. Allison and I rented a cabin up at The Cove."

"We can reschedule—?" Allison offers, though I can tell she's disappointed.

"God, no." I wave away the concern. "It's no big deal—in fact, it works out. I'll get to introduce Derek to Melissa in a low-key environment."

"You're saying it wouldn't be low-key if I showed up?" Scott pouts.

"I'm saying I have no idea how Derek's going to react, and the less people there are around, the more control I have over the situation."

To be honest, I'm not too concerned. Melissa McCall is endearing to anyone who meets her and has that no-nonsense way about her that most nurses do.

"Hey, they're actually pretty good," Allison says, rocking from side to side.

I don't really know what she's talking about until I notice the droning female voice from the stage belongs to Lydia. Bathed in soft white light, her legs looking a mile high in that strapless floral romper, she has every gay, straight, and bi dick in the palm of her hand, jerking them all off with her seductive vocals.

It figures that, on top of everything, she's a natural performer. Shaking away the scorn, I remind myself the girl got me an awesome gift. I turn my attention to Danny. I've never seen him happier as he bangs blissfully on the drum kit. Derek is on a high stool, crouched over the guitar, his brow more furrowed than during finals. It's nice to have something you can use to detach yourself from reality. I'm not sure what my thing is these days. Porn, probably.

"Danny was telling me about how he and Derek used to be in a band when they were kids," Scott explains to Allison, still completely unaware that Danny has putting the moves on him all night. "And his Dad owns some fancy label in Chicago."

Allison does a double take. "Seriously?" She takes Scott's hand in her smaller one. "Honey, if you want to dump me and hop that gravy train, I'd respect you all the more for it."

Scott cocks his head, confused, and I laugh lightly as the lights die down a little. A tapping thuds over the speakers and then Danny's voice booms across the bar.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention! Many of us are here tonight celebrating the birth of a fine, upstanding young gentleman amongst you— !" I try not to crawl under the table in embarrassment as a drunken cheer erupts, prompted more by Danny's tone than my name. "Okay, that's enough, you heathens—he's taken. This next song goes out to the birthday boy and anyone here tonight who, like myself, showed up with the simple hopes of getting laid, but who will probably go home alone and jack off on their best friend's futon."

The cheers crescendo loud enough to rattle my beer on the table.

"Nice… A lot of fans of lonely masturbation here tonight!" Danny nods in approval. "Well, get out your tissues, because this one's an original single—sold over seven copies internationally. I think Derek's gran in Canada bought one, eh?"

Derek gives Danny the finger but is grinning so brightly it's hard to look at him. Danny laughs, hands the mic over to Lydia, then settles at the drum kit. With four strikes of the stick on the rim of his snare, Danny launches the trio into some hipster emo bullshit that my brain tunes out almost immediately. Their key demographic of drunken twenty-somethings certainly seems to appreciate it, though, or perhaps it's just the sight of Lydia getting them worked up.

..But I notice she's not giving a second look to her fans in the crowd. She's only got eyes for one guy, and she's singing to him like he's the only thing in the room.

I feel the coil of frustration snap.

"Hey, I'll get the next round," I tell Scott and Allison, shooting to my feet and stalking towards the bar, well away from the stage.

I've had my suspicions, but I never knew for certain until this very moment that Lydia Martin is in love with Derek Hale.

I have no fucking clue why.

Derek doesn't rinse the sink out after he shaves, he believes closing the door when he pees is optional, he clips his toenails in bed, he leaves seven pairs of sneakers at the door even though he wears the same ones every day, and this one time we saw a blind guy trip and faceplant on the concrete and he _laughed_. Yes, he maintains he didn't _know_ he was blind, but I still have my reservations.

Simply put, Derek Hale is a terrible human being.

Lydia doesn't know that. She doesn't know any of it. If she did, she wouldn't be looking at him like that.

"Three cum shots," I ask the cheery, stacked female bartender as a body leans up against the counter beside me.

"If you're looking to get your buddies drunk, I'd recommend something stronger," the stranger says.

"Actually, these are all for me," I reply, neatly laying the shots out in a row.

"Aww, you shouldn't be doing shots by yourself on your birthday, Stiles."

I pause, looking up at him. It takes me a second to place the guy, considering I've only met him once and he's more clothed this time around, but that jaw is unmistakable.

"Volleyball guy," I state, preferring the name Danny gave him over the less appropriate ones I had.

"Ice cream guy," he counters with a gorgeous smile. "My real name's Chad, by the way."

Figures. "Wait, how'd you know my real name?"

His index finger reaches for my throat, tugging down the elastic strap under my jaw and releasing it with a snap.

"Jeez," I sigh, removing the personalized party hat Scott had given me. How fucking long have I been wearing that thing?

"It's cute." He smiles, leaning his elbow over the table and propping up his square chin on a palm. "You know, I'd stare at that door every night hoping you'd walk in. I'd almost given up hope."

"First of all, I'm jaded enough to know you're bullshitting," I reply, picking up the first shot glass and staring at it. "Secondly, my boyfriend's in the band; he's not gonna appreciate you hitting on me."

"He seems a little preoccupied with that redhead's tongue in his mouth."

I spit up half the shot into the glass and look over my shoulder.

I feel like an idiot the moment I do.

It's not Derek but Danny getting mauled by a drunken, overzealous female fan who'd jumped on stage. He tolerates it for a second, then politely hands her back to her mortified friends.

"That's not my boyfriend," I retort, turning back to do my second shot. "The guy on guitar is."

"You mean the one with the girl sitting on his knee?"

..I'd seen that and chose to ignore it. I'm not jealous—how could I be? I suppose I'm irritated by the knowledge that if Derek Hale had turned out straight, he'd have probably ended up with a girl like Lydia. Of course, that's not even worth thinking about, because a straight Derek Hale wouldn't be _my_ Derek Hale, he'd be alternate universe-Stiles's problem. Though maybe that Stiles would be straight too. Hell, maybe _he'd_ be the one in love with Lydia. Or maybe it doesn't matter what their assumed sexual orientations are—maybe any Derek and any Stiles are just two souls who'd always fall into each other regardless of circumstance.

And clearly alcohol makes me existential.

I take the last shot and, like the first two, don't feel the burn in the back of my throat. I'm guessing most of this was whipped cream.

"So how long have you guys been together?"

"Long," I hear myself saying as my phone vibrates. It takes me a second to pull it out because the jeans are like a second skin. Derek is going to have to cut me out of them tonight. The line drops before I can pick up, but it's a Beacon Hills area code, so I figure I should return the call.

"Well, it was nice catching up with—"

"Wait," Chad says, scrawling his number on the back of a drinks flyer and handing it to me. "Just in case you need it."

"No," I say flatly, dropping off the bar stool. He puts his hand on my hip and I shoot him a look that makes him remove it immediately.

"Why not?" he asks petulantly.

"Because I've read this book and seen this movie. I take it to be polite, forget I have it, and then my boyfriend finds it in the laundry because my birthday is the one day a year he'll offer to do laundry, and then instead of mentioning he found it, he'll brood in silence, creating an entirely fictional ball of angst and chaos in his head which will explode in some dramatic fashion—perhaps at grad or my Dad's wedding, all because of this, this one stupid moment where a stranger handed me his number."

Chad's expression changes abruptly, and he shakes his head. "Dude, you've got some_ issues_. Have a nice life."

"I will, thanks," I say to his retreating back, immediately going back to my first assessment of him, which had been _asshole_.

I step outside the bar to return the call, heading around the back of the building where the sound of "the band" is less jarring.

"Hey, it's Stiles," I say brightly, leaning a shoulder up against the cool brick wall.

There's a masculine sigh on the other end. My heart feels like it's just been dropped in a bucket of ice.

"Jackson," I mutter to the ground.

"Hey, Stiles." His voice is rough and shaken, and I know immediately something's wrong. "Look, I'm sorry for… God, I shouldn't have called you—"

"Don't hang up, idiot." I beat back my frustration, turning my back to the wall and leaning heavily against it.

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm... It's Bailey."

My stomach drops like a stone. I don't know why it would—I haven't seen the dorky beagle in years. So she got hit by a car and was now road kill, so what? Dogs die every day. Besides, I bet the average canine IQ has gone up a couple points—Bailey was pretty stupid, for a dog. I don't mean yapping-at-her-own-refection stupid, I mean like walking three steps out the front door then panicking because she thought she was lost, and then sitting there and howling until Jackson or I ran out to rescue her. It took us an entire moth to get her to walk on a leash.

"Okay. So what happened?" I ask, steeling myself.

"She had some sort of abdominal clot," he says. "The vet says he's going to put her down in the morning if she shows no improvement."

My eyes fly open. "Put her down? Fuck that—if it's just a clot, can't they give her doggy blood thinners and get rid of it?"

"They did, but the tissue was already necrosed by then. It's over half her colon, Stiles, they can't do anything."

"That's bullshit! Tell them to operate! If it's the money I can—"

"You don't think I told them to do everything they could!?" he asks sharply.

I thump my head against the wall. "I know. I'm sorry, but I can't believe that's just it. _That's_ all they can do?"

"They could have operated if I'd have taken her in earlier," he says numbly.

"It's not your fault—"

"Yeah, it is." He laughs shortly. "I was so fucking angry with her last night. I got back home yesterday and the second I let her out of the car, she ran over to your house and started scratching at your back door. She was driving me nuts with all her yapping, so I tied her up in the yard because I figured she'd settle. When I went to walk her this morning she'd chewed straight through her leash. I found her on your porch just lying there, not moving."

"Jesus, Jackson…" I feel like he's just run me through with a sword.

"Stiles, I didn't want to ruin your birthday. I'm not asking you to drive down or anyth—"

"Of course I'm going to be there. I was going to visit my Dad over the weekend anyway, we'll just drive down tonight instead."

"We?"

I feel my stomach clench. "Uh… yeah. He's—"

"I got it," he says thickly. "Drive safe."

He hangs up, and apparently sucks the life out of me when he does because my knees can't be bothered to keep my ass off the ground. I slide down the wall, not shocked when my eyes get blurry and wet. The tears are mostly for Bailey, but also for my balls, which have been brutally compressed by what I'm beginning to think are girl jeans. They sure as fuck don't account for any extra baggage down there. I pop open the top button and sigh a little because it does fuck all to help.

Really, this is excellent.

Just the way I wanted to spend my twenty-second birthday, sitting alone in the dark with aching balls, crying over a dog my boyfriend got me when I was sixteen. I can't help being torn up about it. We'd been a strange little trio until the day Jackson decided he wanted out. I still remember him walking away with her, Bailey looking over his shoulder and whining at me in confusion when she realized, in a panic, I wasn't following them.

It was fucking traumatizing to lose them both in a matter of minutes, but while I could resent Jackson, all I felt towards the little dog was horrifying guilt because she thought I'd abandoned her.

Yet she still tried to find me after all this time? It's heartbreaking.

I don't know how long I stay out there in the parking lot, but it's long enough that my ass gets numb and I'm starting to get cold. I take a shuddering sigh, squeezing out the last droplets from my eyes.

"Stiles!"

I startle when I hear Derek.

Heavy footsteps kick up the gravel as he comes around the corner. He jolts to a stop when he sees me and I jump in surprise when his knees scrape to a halt in front of me.

"Stiles, _what_…?" His hands and eyes run over me.

I try to tell him I'm alright but it comes out as a choked-up croak. I thought I had it together a moment ago, but sometimes when you see another human being and your heart really wants to be comforted by them, it gets what it wants the easiest way it knows how—by making your eyeballs ejaculate.

"Sorry, I'm fine, I just got a call…" I manage to bring up some coherent words.

"Jesus, Stiles…" Derek pulls me up against his chest, one arm around my back and the other stroking through my hair, giving me a weird Dad vibe for a moment.

"Allison, he's here!" Derek calls over his shoulder, half-dragging me to my feet.

"Oh my God, Stiles, what's wrong? Why weren't you answering your phone?" Allison asks. She elbows Derek out the way and hugs me instead.

I mumble something about a low battery into her shoulder.

"But what happened?" she asks. "Is it Jackson?"

It's jarring to hear her say that, but I can see why she went there. The last time I broke down like this was the morning _he _broke my heart.

I shake my head. "It's Bailey, she… they're going to… in the morning…" I manage to heave out the words, sounding like I'm underwater.

"Oh, Stiles, I'm so sorry," Allison whispers sadly, even though that dog had puked in her shoes once and given her hives multiple times.

"Who is Hailey?" I hear Danny whisper.

"I think he said Kaylee," Scott corrects.

I didn't even realize they were both out here too. Nice to know I'm embarrassing myself in front of _everyone_. I pull back from Allison to retain some dignity.

"Dude, your fly's down," Scott tells me.

Of course it is. "Jeez, these pants were too fucking tight." I give everyone the blanket explanation before they think I was out here masturbating, which is only slightly less embarrassing than what I was actually doing.

"Wait, I'm not following—who is this person?" Derek asks, completely thrown.

"She's Jackson and Stiles's Beagle," Allison informs everyone.

There's a drawn-out pause.

"Stiles…" Derek's low, grating voice makes me flinch. I know him well enough to get that he's not going to digest this well.

"Tell me you're not sitting out here_ crying _over a fucking dog your ex-boyfriend bought you in _high school_?" Every word is a decibel louder than the one before it.

I clench my jaw, forcing calmness into my tone before replying. "Derek, you've had dogs before. I'm allowed to be sad about this."

"Not when it's not even your dog anymore! Fuck, Stiles. What is wrong with you?"

"Okay, be mad at me later," I puff out a shaky breath and hand him my keys. "Right now I really need you to drive me to Beacon Hills so I can see her, and we need to go home and pick up our bags first. We can take my car. Danny, can you drop Derek's car off at our place?"

"You got it," Danny agrees immediately.

"I have a better idea." Derek steps back, whips his arm in reverse, and athletically pitches my keys deep into the dark parking lot.

I look at him, stunned.

"Real mature," Danny deadpans, gripping Derek's collar and dragging him several feet away and out of earshot, hopefully in order to talk some sense into him.

I've honestly never seen him do anything that juvenile before, and Derek's done some pretty stupid things in the time I've known him.

I vaguely hear Allison mutter, "Jackass," under her breath as she takes my hand. Scott pats my shoulder awkwardly.

"Dude, um… sorry your dog is dying. My dog died too. Well, my neighbor's dog. It might have been a cat; it was pretty mangled after I ran over it with my car. I mean, I think it was dead already. Probably."

Allison scowls at him but I crack a tired smile, because Scott's unhelpfulness somehow seems to help. I brush my knuckles over my eyes and Allison produces Kleenex out of nowhere, because she's a girl and girls are magic like that. I blow my nose unattractively and glance over at Derek to find him getting chewed out by Danny. Derek's insecurities aren't completely unfounded. The truth is I'll probably always have feelings for Jackson, but they're shadows; Derek is the motherfucking sun to me and he's clearly overreacting. My sadness was entirely for the beautiful baby beagle that had been BFFs with the mailman and terrified of squirrels.

But Derek doesn't see it that way. He looked at me and saw a guy bawling over his ex.

"I made him mad," I mutter to nobody in particular.

Allison sighs harshly. "To hell with him—he's your boyfriend, and if you ask him to do something he should just shut up and do it. Right, Scott?"

"Right," he agrees. "Especially if you use that tone like Allison just did. I think one of my balls just shriveled. Can one of you feel them and make sure they're still the same size?"

Allison shakes her head. "Scott—go find Stiles's keys."

"On it!" He salutes, jogging out into the parking lot.

"He'll never—"

"We'll take care of it. Just get your ass over to Derek and tell him he's being a child."

Giving in, I thank her and jog over to Double D… I just made that up.

Danny notices me first and says one more thing to Derek, jabbing an index finger into his forehead. He gives me a sympathetic nod before joining Scott.

"What did he say?" I ask Derek.

"He told me to apologize."

"You don't have—"

"I wasn't going to," he assures me, heading back to the bar.

"Derek," I say firmly, grabbing his arm. For a second I think he's going to knock me to the gravel, but he whips me to his chest instead, using the few inches he has on me to his full advantage.

_"What?!"_

"Don't yell at me!" I yell back at him. "I don't _need_ you to drive me, I could take a fucking bus if I wanted to, but you're my boyfriend—so _please_ come with me."

There's a rumble in the back of his throat.

"You realize how fucked up this is?" he asks fiercely.

"Yes."

"If we go, we go for the dog. You're not grabbing a quick coffee with him or dropping by his place or any bullshit like that. I can't deal with it."

I nod. I'd never even considered doing any of that.

Derek swallows back his anger, grips my hand in his, and heads to his Camaro. I don't make him apologize about the keys. I think it's punishment enough that he has to meet Jackson.

I slip on my seatbelt but instead of firing up the ignition Derek just sits there, staring blankly ahead.

"Derek?" I ask tentatively.

"You scared the fuck out of me."

"Huh? When?"

He pulls out a crumpled party hat from his back pocket and tosses it in my lap. "The bartender said you'd been doing shots alone and there was some guy hassling you so you left—"

"I left because—"

"Then I come out here and you were crying."

"Over a dog—"

"And Jesus, your fucking zipper was down."

"But my testicles—"

"Stiles!" He turns to me rigidly.

I blink, suddenly seeing it through his perspective and feeling his anxiety.

"You know if anything ever happened to you…" He shakes his head. "Nothing can happen to you. I couldn't handle it."

I unclip my seatbelt and shift over to wrap my arms around his neck, knowing he needs it more than I do.

"I would do anything to keep you safe, Stiles."

"I'd do the same for you," I say without hesitation. "And that includes keeping safe your faith in me."

He drops his head on my shoulder and mutters, "It's not you I have trouble trusting."

* * *

There's a difference between holding someone's hand and holding someone's wrist.

"Hey, you wanna ease up a bit? I'm getting carpal tunnel over here," I wince as we walk to the 24-hour animal clinic a few blocks from my old neighborhood.

"Sorry." Derek releases his grip but I wind my fingers through his before he gets too far. The familiar face of the vet tech greets us. She's been working here for years, so when she sees me she gives me a sympathetic smile and tells us to go on into the back room where the animal cages were.

I don't get a chance to hesitate at the door because Derek pushes it open with an arm over my head.

I stop short at the sudden slap of my past glaring me in the face. Jackson is on the floor in a crumpled blue T-shirt, propped up against the back wall and soundly asleep, looking like he's been there for days. Bailey is curled up on a blanket beside his leg, the cage against the wall left open.

"Jackson…" I say hesitantly.

He inhales sharply and blinks awake.

"Stiles?" He looks down at Bailey, then back up at me. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts. He looks like he's been crying a lot longer and harder than I have been.

"Slide over," I say. He gets to his feet instead and I take his place next to the motionless Beagle. I've never seen her so still. Even in her sleep she's always yapping or snoring or doing the running man.

"Baaaaiiley?" I say in my sing-song tone as she makes a gurgling whine and buries her nose against my thigh. "Good girl," I croon softly. There's a gentle thumping on the floor as her tail starts wagging at the sound of my voice.

"Does she have water?" I ask before noting the large bore needle in her twitching leg.

"They gave her a fluid IV with the morphine," Jackson says, running a hand over his tired but still handsome face.

I look up to see Derek standing like some sort of sentry, every inch of his body radiating to me how much he doesn't want to be here. He doesn't even notice the cat in the cage right beside him, hissing its head off at him. It sticks his paw out through the cage and whacks him a few times in the arm.

It's surreal seeing them next to each other, the only two guys I've ever loved. I've compared them spontaneously in my head, but only in fragments, never the whole picture side by side. It makes me realize I really don't have a type. Derek is tanned, broad-shouldered, and looks like he stepped out a promo for the Marine Corps. Jackson is sculpted, streamlined, and undeniably GQ.

I guess the one thing they have in common is being smart as hell.

"Derek." I nod him over us. "This is Jackson. Jackson, Derek."

"Dr. Jackson Whittemore," Jackson extends his hand to Derek, who shakes it mechanically.

"Doctor?" I blurt.

He shrugs. "Graduated last month."

"How?" I ask. I heard through the grapevine—Facebook—that he killed it in undergrad and got into med school a year earlier than the rest of us, but still…

"It's Harvard. They have accelerated degree programs; you just need to know the right people."

He says it so flippantly. "Well, congratulations," I say sincerely.

He gives me a tight smile before turning to Derek. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your last name."

"Hale," my boyfriend says, expressionless, folding his arms across his chest. I know him intimately enough to tell he's flexing every part of his upper body.

"_Hale_? Bet you get asked all the time if you're related to Senator Hale."

"He's my uncle."

Jackson's eyes widen. "Really? They send me up to Chicago all the time for conferences. I actually went to one of his rallies. He's quite a charismatic man."

"Yeah," Derek deadpans, giving no indication he is anything like his uncle.

Their small talk dies abruptly.

I look down as Bailey stirs under my palm. "You want to come meet her?" I ask Derek, glancing at Jackson. "Is that okay?" She used to_ love _strangers. Worst guard dog ever.

Jackson nods, stepping aside, but Derek takes a moment to move.

"C'mon, she doesn't bite," I prompt.

He finally crouches down in front of me and Bailey, immediately reaching for that secret spot behind her ear that makes 99% of dogs grunt in contentment. He adjusts only slightly and then she's thumping her tail on the floor for him too.

"You like him too, huh? Hussy," I scold her affectionately.

"She's… pretty fucking cute," Derek admits begrudgingly, and I smile in return.

"I gotta check my messages," Jackson says, already out the door before I can look up.

Derek exhales heavily, watching the door swing closed out the corner of his eye.

"You going to go after him?" he asks.

"Here for the dog, remember?"

"Right," he says, rubbing a knuckle over the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to send Jackson back in here. I'll be out in the waiting room."

"Don't be stupid. I want you with me."

"You're lying a part of your past to rest Stiles—I get that now." He presses his lips to my mine. "I'll literally be right outside the door," he adds, and I can't tell if he's trying to comfort or warn me. Possibly both. He gets irked at the mere mention of Jackson's name; I can't imagine what he must feel leaving me alone with the guy.

"Okay, but come back in if you get lonely," I say with half a smile.

Jackson and I don't talk much through the night with Bailey between us. The tension I expected isn't there, not when we have our dog to worry about. He nods off a few times but I'm still heavy-heartedly awake, passing the time counting Bailey's stubby whiskers and scratching between her furry shoulder blades that had a little more white sprinkled in with the brown these days.

The tech comes in to give her a shot of pain meds a few hours later. I don't realize how much time has gone by until I see sunlight filtering through the windows, splashing over the tiles. I glance over at Jackson, who's snoring away. You'd think he'd be better at this considering the number of all-nighters he must have pulled to blaze through the med school curriculum that fast. When Jackson sets his mind to doing something, nothing can stop him. Not even his heart. I stare at his still-perfect face in awe. I can't believe he's a _doctor _now. He looks just the way he did falling asleep on my couch when we played video games in my basement.

I look up as the door cracks open and Derek walks in with a coffee-cup tray.

He pulls out one of the three cups and taps it against my bent knee. "Thanks," I say with a smile.

"You owe me. I had to flirt with the secretary to sneak this back here—she made me leave the donuts at the front desk." Derek spares Jackson's sleeping form a glance before placing the second cup on Bailey's cage beside him.

"I owe you for much more than coffee," I say quietly, getting to my feet, then instantly regretting it as my Gluteus muscles twinge with protest.

"God, my ass hurts," I mutter, arching my back.

"And _that's_ what I want to hear after leaving you alone all night with your ex," Derek mumbles into his own coffee, walking to the window. I follow him, leaning my shoulder against his and looking out at the fascinating view. Two squirrels in the parking lot chase each other up a tree, which is cute until one body checks the other and they start trying to scratch out each other's eyes.

"God, I hate this town," Derek mutters.

"Have you been back since…?"

He nods. "A couple times. My family's at Sacred Heart."

"Yeah, so's my mom," I tell him. It's the only cemetery in Beacon Hills. "If you want we can—"

"No," he says flatly, then hastily turns to me. "I mean, if you want to go, of course I'd—"

"I don't really want to either," I admit softly.

He nods and turns back to look out the window. This is the longest conversation we've had about our respective family tragedies. For the first time, I don't feel like stopping. "I uh… don't really associate her grave with anything other than the funeral. She was more than just one shitty Sunday afternoon in the rain."

"I wish I cared about it as much as you did," Dereks says softly. "My mom and I were strangers when she died."

"You were a toddler, Derek. You weren't strangers."

He shakes his head and abruptly changes the subject. "This coffee tastes like shit—you know I found only _one_ breakfast place open at seven AM?"

"You clearly we went in the wrong direction—Starbucks has discovered us, you know."

"Starbucks?" he says in mock awe. "How eclectic."

"And the strip is pretty cool," I continue, ignoring his sarcasm.

"That a club?"

"Uh, no, the strip mall," I clarify.

"Ah. Let me guess, Men's Warehouse and Chuck-e-Cheese?"

"Among other things, asshole. Sorry we don't all have rich uncles who own Chicago."

"Chicago does have some nice sights."

I grunt into my coffee cup. "Big cities just stress me out," I say, thinking of the road trips Jackson and I took. "And the parking!? You pay—what, like, twenty bucks for the day downtown, just to park on the fifteenth floor of a structure you won't be able to find because there's seven others exactly like it in a three block radius."

"You just need a good tour guide," Derek assures me, leaning in to kiss me but stopping when we hear Jackson shuffle awake with a groan.

"Hey." I walk back to him and crouch down in front of Bailey, not wanting to wake her as her chest rises and falls peacefully. "They gave her another shot. she's out like a light."

Jackson nods groggily and wordlessly removes the coffee cup from my grasp, taking a generous gulp before returning it. On one hand, it's the most familiar thing in the world for him to do; on the other, I'm a little blindsided.

"I got you your own," Derek points out, and I can hear the note of irritation in his voice.

"Oh. Thanks, man," Jackson says, reaching for it, but then he stops and looks down at the little dog.

My heart grinds to a halt.

"Bailey? Bailey!?" Jackson frantically places his hands over her. "Fuck—get the tech!"

I turn, but Derek already has one foot out the door. I look back and Jackson is giving Bailey neonatal chest compressions. I'm not sure if that works for dogs, and even if it did…

"Stop that," I tell him, gripping his shoulder.

He shrugs me off.

"Jackson, don't—why try to bring her back if we're going to have to put her down?!"

"Move aside." The tech comes in and I literally haul Jackson to his feet to give her room to work

There's silence as the tech ascultates for a heartbeat. I hear my own heart pounding in my ears and Jackson's shallow breathing behind me.

"I'm sorry," the tech says respectfully, the bell of her stethoscope dropping.

"What do you mean, you're sorry?" Jackson barks incredulously. "Look—get on the phone and tell the vet to haul his ass—g"

"She's gone, Mr. Whittemore," she says quietly. "The doctor explained to you already that with a massive ischemia like that… honestly, it's a testament to her character that she held on as long as she did." She wraps Bailey in the blanket she was lying in, gently resting her on the steel table. "Would you like her placed in an examination room?"

"No," Jackson says raggedly. "Just give us a minute."

The tech nods, turning to leave, but pauses at the door. "You know, I remember the day the two of you brought her in. I'm glad you were both together when she passed on."

The door swings softly shut_._

I exhale lengthily. "Jackson?"

"I should have found her earlier," he says in a pained voice, unable to even look at her.

"It's okay," I say to him. "Between the two of us… she had a kick-ass life for a dog."

He laughs derisively. "I suppose it must be a relief for you to finally be rid of her."

"Hey—?h" I reach for his arm as he turns, but then I go limp in surprise as his palm slams into my chest and he crashes me into the empty cage behind us. Derek tears him off me the next second, flinging him back with terrifying ease.

"Chill the fuck out," Derek says murderously before turning to me. "You all right?"

Jackson unwisely steps up to him, fists clenched, before I can answer.

"Stop!" I say sharply, pushing Jackson back, because I'm a more equal match for him physically than Derek.

"What are you doing, moron?" I ask in disbelief. "You really want to start something—with that?" I jab a thumb over my shoulder.

"Maybe I do," he snaps, eyes glinting.

"Hey, I'm ready whenever you are, princess," Derek heckles.

Jackson exhales harshly, knocking away my hands.

"He's a fucking charmer, Stiles. Congratulations on your brilliant life choices."

Jackson stalks out of the clinic without a backwards glance. I take a step towards the door before an arm wraps my shoulders from behind.

At first I want to argue, but he squeezes me tighter and for some reason it helps me relax the coil of tension in my gut.

"Yeah… okay," I say in reply to his silent request, patting his arm reassuringly.

"You're all right?" he asks, hand skimming my back.

"Yeah, just… fuck him. He's not the reason I'm here. Let me…"

"Take your time."

I move over to where Bailey rests, hesitating before stroking a palm over her satin fur, always a little bit softer on her face than anywhere else on her body. I remember all those cold nights in undergrad trying to fall asleep without a fuzzball curled up at my feet. Sometimes I'd fall asleep with a text in my bed and wake up at night feeling a pressure against me, thinking it was her—but no, just a biology text that probably weighed more than she did and was far less pleasing to cuddle with.

Finally ready, I lean in and press a kiss to the bright white Beagle streak running down the center of her face, then sigh into her fur, preparing myself to walk away.

I hear a thunderous wet grumbling behind me.

I look over my shoulder with a quirked eyebrow. Derek's holding his abdomen with a faint blush on his cheeks.

"I haven't had anything to eat since that hotdog yesterday," he whispers defensively.

I give him a tired smile, taking his hand and tugging him out the door. "Let's go get some donuts in you."

A few minutes later we're sitting on the sun-warmed hood of Derek's Camaro, still parked at the vet's office, a box of donuts between us.

"If there are dents under my ass after this, then you can't blame me," I state, popping a powdery, jelly-filled donut in my mouth.

"I've done this a million times and never dented it," he assures me, leaning back against the windshield

"Right, but all my weight is concentrated on one little spot. Your ass has a larger surface area so there's more weight distribution—"

"Did you just say my ass was fat?"

"No, I meant it's just bigger." I pause. "I mean, not bigger, just… wider. Wait, not wider, I mean—it's like when a polar bear wants to cross a thin ice field but doesn't want to fall through the surface, it flops down on its belly and shuffles along—"

"Stop talking. Now. Maybe forever," he scowls, taking another donut, then rethinking it and dropping it back in the box.

Awesome, I've made my boyfriend feel fat.

I lift the abandoned donut, airplaning it in front of Derek's face complete with sound effects to come in for a landing in his mouth.

"—the fuck are you doing?" he deadpans.

I roll my eyes, stuffing half the donut in my mouth and looking at him expectantly. He smirks andleans in, bumping my nose with his, then tears the other half off, munching with a faint smile on his face.

"You realize we're now one of those disgusting PDA couples?" I ask.

"I don't mind. I'm still fucking starving."

"Hold on, you said you had nothing to eat last night—what about my birthday cake?"

"I couldn't eat it—It was weird," he grumbles.

"How on earth was it weird?"

"Did you not notice that the dick part of the cake…" Derek shuffles awkwardly. "Looked like me?"

"Uh, yeah, of course it looked like you. Allison sent a picture of your cock to the bakery for reference."

His looks at me stoically. "What?"

"She said she needed a picture of your dick, so I sent her one. I figured it was for a gag gift—the cake was a delicious surprise."

All at once Derek gets flustered and barks, "How the hell did you get a picture of it!?"

"Seriously? You send me, like, three a week. I could start a website. Danglin' Derek. Hangin' Hale. Don't think I haven't thought about it."

Derek grimaces. "No wonder the girl at the bakery couldn't make eye contact—fuck me, and Scott knew, didn't he?"

I bite back a laugh because I know the incident he's referring to. Scott had unsuccessfully tried to stuff one of the coconut-covered ice cream balls in his mouth and said to Derek, _"You know, they don't look all that big, but you could choke a guy with these."_

"Mr. Stilinski!" one of the ladies from the front desk pokes her head out of the glass door and waves.

I sigh inwardly, dropping off the car. I don't expected Derek to follow me back into the clinic, but his footsteps echo mine nevertheless.

"Thank you for waiting. We know you're not staying long so we called in some favors and sped up the procedure, as per Dr. Wittemore's request…" She holds up the bottle-green urn. It's beautiful. Small, I guess. Generic looking. The sort of thing you'd keep cookies in. Except when you open it, surprise! No cookies. Just dead dog. I feel a little queasy.

"This is only half," she clarifies, attributing my unease to the idea she's not handing me _enough_ doggy ashes. "We'll keep the other half for Mr. Whittemore to pick up. Unless you'd like to give it to him?"

"No, that's alright," I reply, even though Jackson's house is behind mine. I haven't mentioned that piece of information to Derek yet, but it's extremely likely we'll be running into him again at some point this weekend.

With a sigh, I reach for the urn but then drop my hands, flexing my fingers. I really don't want it. She's gone, and this is pointless. When I remember what she felt like I want to remember the furry, fluffy, drooling little princess, not the cold, hard weight of an urn. I turn to Derek. "You want to get that for me?"

He hesitates but then carefully reaches out and squeezes it between his palms, raising it steadily like it's a motion-sensitive explosive device. Or a baby.

We walk back to the car, but I stop when I realize he's not beside me.

I turn around to find him walking very slowly, very deliberately, holding the urn at arm's length and in front of his eyes, concentrating so hard the arteries at his temples bulge.

"Derek, what are you doing?"

"I don't want to drop it," he replies, cautiously stepping around a twig on the concrete.

"You know just by saying that you've literally guaranteed that you'll drop it?"

"Shut up Stiles."

"Fine, but I'm gonna be divorced by the time you get your ass over here."

He shoots me an annoyed glare. "Look, this is important to you, and I need you to know it's important to me too—so could you stop being a dick and just appreciate me?"

I raise my hands in acquiescence. "Fine, but fair warning, there's a _huge_ pothole in front of you."

"Hilarious. Why don't you sit your ass in the car and I'll get there when I get th—ahh!"

Everything after that happens in slow motion. First of all, I wasn't messing with him about the pothole—only, by the time he realizes it, he's already lodged the tip of his right sneaker in it. As he lurches forwards, the urn goes sailing ahead of him—and to his credit, he flails out in desperation and flicks it with the tips of his fingers, but that only makes it spin in the air. Derek crash-lands onto his hands and knees a second before urn explodes in a cloud of grey dust on the concrete between us. A car exiting the lot, completely unaware of the unfolding drama, revs its engine and unceremoniously streaks over the scene, swishing away the rest of the ashes.

Derek can only stare, bewildered, every drop of color on his face draining away and leaving him pale. He looks up at me as if there's an undo button on my forehead.

I shake my head. "If we ever have a baby, you don't get to hold him. Ever," I state, managing to keep my face straight until I get into the Camaro and proceed to cough up a lung laughing.

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...I'm asking for reviews chapter! Please? *grabby hands* :DD


	7. Chapter 7

Extra long chapter to make up for the absence! Thank you SO much for the comments... I leave the reviews open when I write and they make me deliriously happy. I got a little busy so this is the un-beta'd version, I figured I'd post it before things got crazy and I had to put it off again.

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. Chapter Warning: Politics. I swear it's not gratuitous tension-building, it's set up for future life-ruining Peter stuff.

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Chapter 7

My thumb pierces through shiny tin foil and into hot, creamy butternut squash ravioli resting on my mom's old kitchen counter. I suck on the tip of my clumsy digit, sighing thoughtfully. The last 48 hours had taken a lot out of me— exams, birthday, Bailey, _goddamn Jackson. _However, everything was finally on the brink of perfection. Dad had called from the airport to say he and Scott's mom were on their way home, which had given me enough time to set up one hell of a get-to-know-the-boyfriend dinner. Dad might have met Derek on a few occasions but I can't say he ever warmed up to him. I was hopping to change that.

"Stiles!?" I hear my boyfriend bellow from upstairs.

"Kitchen!" I holler back.

Footsteps thump down the stairs, increasing in frequency as they reach the bottom.

Mother nature had done right by the universe when she created Derek Hale. He trots into the kitchen in a way that would warrant dropping whatever you're doing and slow clapping him just for existing. I blatantly ogle his body in the red v-neck muscle shirt and grey basketball shorts that somehow made his athletic torso seem a mile long. …And his legs? I'd never really considered guy's calves a particular kink, but _holy shit_. He might be NFL on top but he was all FIFA on the bottom.

"Well?" Derek prompts.

He comes to a halt in front of me, clean shaven, smelling cool and spicy, and clearly having just asked me a question.

"I totally wasn't listening. Your hotness distracted me."

"What?"

"You're gorgeous."

He shakes his head, then places a palm over my face, gently pushing me aside as he heads to the coffee maker. "I asked if your Dad's on his way home or if those two are still on island time." He pours himself a cup, yawning broadly, even though it's 11am. To be fair, he deserved the rest after helping me spruce up my horrendously cluttered bedroom yesterday. Dad had stuck the for-sale sign in the yard before he'd left for his romantic getaway, but there was a lot that needed to be done to get the place looking marketable for potential buyers. Derek was happy to help— I'm pretty sure he was still reeling in guilt for he'd done to Bailey's urn, but I'd assured that him that besides being haunted by a vengeful sneaker-chewing doggy spirit for the rest of his life, he had nothing to worry about.

"Stiles!" Derek's fingers click in front of my face.

_"What?" _I ask startled

"Your Dad. Home. When."

"Oh, uhh... by noon?" I glance at the giant chicken-clock on the wall that clucked every hour.

"You were busy this morning." Derek inhales the coffee and his eyes flicker across the neatly set dinner table. "You should have woken me."

"I'm still on my study schedule so I was up early anyway. Besides, I liked seeing you in my bed."

He grunts into his mug. "You need me to do anything?"

"Not in the kitchen no, but maybe…?" I nod upstairs lecherously. Sad truth, we hadn't had sex in... God, some time during finals I assume, if that even counts. I don't exactly perform well when I'm stressed, and I'm pretty sure I'd been mentally running through powerpoint slides the last time we'd fucked. Thankfully now that the pressure was off, all I wanted to do was have a three-way with him and a hard surface.

"I'll pass," he deadpans, dropping the unwashed mug in the sink. Then reconsidering, decided to give it a rinse.

"Derek Hale turning down sex and doing dishes? Should I be on the porch looking for flaming horses?"

"I can do a quickie no problem Stiles—you're the one that's always flushed and squirming for an hour afterwards. Personally, I'd prefer it if your Dad didn't know I was drilling his only son under his own roof."

"…Are you nervous?" I chuckle.

"Honestly? A little, yeah. This just seems more formal than anything we've done before and I didn't have time to think it all through. I didn't even pack a real shirt for fuck's sake."

I motion at my own faded Batman t-shirt. "There's no need to suit up Derek. It's just my Dad who you've met already and Melissa who loves everyone. No surprises."

Derek seats himself on a kitchen stool and swivels in it. "I didn't even get them anything. I mean they just got engaged— shouldn't I have gotten them something?"

"I haven't even time had to get them anything. When I do I'll sign your name on the card, no big deal. If it makes you feel better you paid for lunch," I inform, dropping into his lap without invitation and leaning a shoulder against his chest.

"I did?" He asks, looping an arm across my lap.

"I was short on cash so I used your credit card this morning and got take-out from this little old diner I love."

"Wait, you bought that?" He sounds disappointed. "Here I thought you were slaving away in the kitchen."

I snort and offer him an introductory hand, which he shakes unthinkingly. "Hi, my name is Stiles Stilinski. I don't cook."

His thumb glances over my skin. "...And what _do_ you do Stiles Stilinski?" The grit in his voice sends a bolt of desire from my dick right up to my heart, then explodes behind my eyeballs... which kinda hurts. I run a hand over my forehead wondering if a_ lust migraine_ was a thing. I'm about to ask when his mouth angles over mine and he kisses me hungrily. I honestly can't remember the last time I wanted a solid pounding this badly, and just knowing my ass was right over his cock was giving me wood. I moan into him, grinding down in his lap and reaching into my shorts.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks abruptly. He's looking down at my crotch where I may or may not have my dick out.

"What? I though we were…?"

He looks at me incredulous. "In your _kitchen_? With your Dad on his way?"

"We'll be quick."

"You'll be quick. I'll be dead."

I feel an irrational streak of frustration, but at that point I'm too frustrated to recognize it as irrational. "_Jesus_, sorry, my mistake," I abandon his lap and drop onto the kitchen stool beside him. "Let's just sit here and talk then. Hey nice weather we're having huh? Radio said there wouldn't be rain all week—"

Something slaps the side of my head. It's a rolled up kitchen towel. "You turn me down constantly, and the one time I do it to you and offer an actual explanation you start mewling at me."

"…Fuck off. I don't mewl."

"Like an abandoned kitten in the snow… except it's so tiny that nobody hears it, so they just walk past and eventually the kitten just freezes to death. We should get a cat."

I do a double take at the sudden conclusion of the worst bedtime story ever told. "I… what?"

"Neither of us have ever had one before, so it'll be like… a new experience," he decides. "And I'm not just coming up with this off the top of my head—I thought about it last night. There's really not much to it. You never have to give it a bath, or take it for walks. You don't even have to feed it."

"You _definitely_ have to feed a cat Derek."

"I thought that too! But I looked it up on my phone, apparently if you let them out during they day they'll hunt squirrels and shit—that's why most cats are so fat. They eat squirrels all day then they come home and their owners feed them again. It's really a vicious cycle." When I say nothing he continues his pro-feline propaganda. "Look if we decide we don't want it anymore we can always release it into the wild. It's totally humane."

I shake my head. "Derek Hale, you're the smartest guy I know but you have GOT to stop using Yahoo Answers."

"Why can't you just go with me on this?" He scowls.

I sigh heavily, well aware that any information I share about responsible pet ownership will immediately be invalidated by a twelve-year-old on the internet trying to troll my boyfriend. Instead I lean an elbow over the counter propping my chin up with a palm. "Let me get this straight. You want to buy a cat—"

"We don't have to buy one. There's all sorts of them wandering around the building Stiles. We could just catch one."

I nod. "My mistake. You want to _catch_ someone else's cat, not feed it, then when you're done with it abandon it in the forest."

"Return it to nature," Derek says defensively. "Why are you being a dick about this? You'll get a dog with Jackson but a cat is too much of a commitment for us?"

I totally hadn't seen that coming, and it makes me smile slightly. "Derek if we're talking long-term commitment, I want us to have more substantial than a cat or dog."

"…Like a ferret?"

"Think less fur Derek."

"Danny's ferret didn't have fur. At first he thought it was molting but it turns out it just had kidney failure..." Derek trails off, instantly alert and turns to the windows. "Looks like they're early. Aren't you glad I don't have you bent over the counter right now?"

He practically knocks me off the stool, stepping on my heels the entire way to the door and asking me if he looks okay. I can't say I didn't find his anxious enthusiasm infectious, but I couldn't wrap my head around why he thought he needed to try so hard. He was Derek Hale. People tried to impress him, not the other way around. I throw open the door prepared to see my Dad's truck in the driveway. Instead I see a random tan colored Sedan… and a chipped green minivan behind it. More cars on the street. Suddenly people are pouring down the road. Familiar faces of the neighborhood call out my name with a cheery wave and head towards our backyard.

"Stiles _pumpkin_, it's so good to see your face!" One of the neighborhood moms shrieks at me, her petite round frame jostling as she absently thrusts Tupperware into Derek's chest before enveloping me in a tight hug.

"Mrs. Benson, what's going on?" I ask exchanging equally bewildered looks with Derek who is standing there with potato salad in his hands.

"It's your going away party— did you and your father think you could put the house up for sale and just take off? Are he and Melissa back from the airport?"

"Not yet—"

"Perfect! Now take your strapping young friend here and go help my husband unload the extra grill — you know how his back gets." She relieves Derek of the Tupperware and bustles past us.

Minutes later, Derek and I find ourselves moving the apparently portable barbecue around the back of the house, navigating around screaming children racing past our legs. The quiet afternoon I'd been looking forward to dissipates in front of my eyes. "Mikey slow down—and don't go near the pool without a grown up watching!" I yell as a mischievous gap-toothed five-year-old barrels past me. I turn to Derek in dismay. He has a curious but bewildered look on his face watching the neighborhood families mingling, pouring drinks, unwrapping trays of mac and cheese and corn bread. It's like a zoo exhibit to him.

"I'm really sorry about this Derek."

"No it's… nice," He says. "Very small-town-charm."

"What, you didn't do things like this back home?"

"Not where I lived. Electric fences were there for a reason— this one time my neighbor's pet llama wandered onto our tennis court and security shot it in the head."

...There were too many elitist references in that sentence for me to acknowledge them all so I simply nod and continue to struggle with my end of the barbecue. "Okay what part of this thing _portable_?"

"Boys it has wheels!" One of the dads calls out from the patio.

Derek and I exchanged brief embarrassed looks and then roll it beside the fire pit beside our own grill. It's probably a good thing they'd brought an extra considering the entire block had crawled out of the woodwork to join the festivities. Within seconds my boyfriend is sequestered by teenage girls, and he doesn't need to do much more than breathe and suddenly their mothers are shoving the girls out the way and engaging him in conversation. Derek Hale has universal appeal to anyone with even a remote attraction to men. He has _hazardous_ written all over him, but it's offset by a boyish grin. Approachable one moment and intimidating the next, it's a unique duplicity that many a serial killer would probably find useful.

Satisfied that he's blending in, I hand him a drink and leave him to mingle, heading off to retrieve some extra lawn chairs from the shed. A few minutes later there's an enthusiastic ripple of commotion that tells me the real guests of honor have arrived. I see Melissa first, her dark curls spilling from under a wide-brimmed straw hat. I drop everything and dart through well-wishers, throwing my arms around her with a grin.

"Stiles!" She laughs. She seemed younger, happier and less like a woman who had to raise Scott McCall all on her own. "Happy birthday sweetheart!"

"Happy engagement!" I exclaim in return. "You realize Scott and I now owe each other a pizza because I swore the two of you were going to get engaged on Valentines Day and he insisted on New Years."

"Nice to know you boys think we're that cheesy," She chuckles.

"There he is!" My dad's voice booms over our heads. Strong, sunburned arms grip me up and lift me off my feet.

"Missed you too Dad," I reply in my default apathetic-teenager, even though I'm all homesick-college-student on the inside and he knows it.

He drops me back onto cobblestone with a grin. "You're looking good kiddo! Been hitting the gym instead of the library huh?" He grips my shoulders and gives me a parental once-over, making sure my limbs are where they should be and there aren't any visible signs of piercings or ink.

"If you think the layer of finals-week blubber I've developed is muscle then clearly your eyesight's getting worse old man."

He chuckles and jabs a fist into my chin affectionately. "I'm glad you're here Stiles. I know all of this has really snowballed—"

"This is a good thing," I cut him off and look between him and Melissa. "For everyone."

Dad squeezes my shoulders, his expression conveying something deeper than happiness when he looks down at me. He'd gone on the occasional date in the last few years, but Melissa McCall was the first woman who'd made him smile the kinds of smiles he used to flash at mom. I won't say it hadn't been a kick in the balls the first time I realized Dad was in love with someone that wasn't my mother, but lightning can strike twice. Derek had shown me that.

"You two need to come say hello to Derek!" I say suddenly, remembering I'd abandoned him to conversations of horticulture and sprinkler system maintenance.

"In a second, sport." Dad presses a hard kiss to the top of my head. "Gonna toss the passports in the safe and change my shirt. Mel spilled Diet Snapple on me in the car."

"An accident!" She proclaims in a way that tells me she's had to defend herself on this matter multiple times.

"Or a cheap ploy to get me undressed," he accuses.

"Like I'd need a _ploy _darlin'," she says coolly.

"Alright save the flirting for later," I interrupt taking Melissa's hand. "Dad meet us at the end of the pool—and hurry up?"

I tug Scott's mom over to my boyfriend who is oddly darting towards the cooler. "Hey!" Derek snaps at a thirteen year old who'd surreptitiously helped himself to a can of Bud. Derek snatches it out of his hands and goes off on him about state laws and alcoholic liver disease. A responsible cat owner he'll never be, but I know that kid isn't going to touch a drop of alcohol again until he's at least thirty.

"Hey Derek."

He swivels mid sentence, then freezes when he sees Melissa. He looks down at the beer in each of his hands.

"I wasn't having two. This one was the kid's. Not that I was giving him alcohol—"

"Relax." I take the unopened can, handing it to Melissa. "This is Derek Hale, my boyfriend."

She gives him a warm smile and extends a hand. "It's lovely to meet you Derek. Scott has told me so much about you— he's quite fond of you."

He grabs her hand, shaking it like he'd just sold her a cow off the back of his truck and was indeed satisfied by the agreed upon price."Yeah. Me too. About Scott. I mean like in a straight way. Hi."

I give him a baffled look, wondering where all of that easy charm of his had suddenly disappeared to.

"That's a nice… hat…" Derek offers next. "I like the ah…" he can't remember the word for 'bow', so instead he says "…ribbon knot."

"Just something silly I picked up on one of the Islands," she says patting at it cheerily, to her credit ignoring the raging awkwardness of my boyfriend. "Honestly it rained practically the entire time we were down there. I'm a little relieved to be back in here with all this sunlight— no place like Beacon Hills, right?"

"Right!" he responds enthusiastically.

"So you live in town?"

"God no I hate… uh, sunlight," he catches himself.

"Derek grew up in Chicago," I fill in, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. I try to steer the conversation, but the more tense Derek gets, the more he starts blurting out observational commentary at Melissa. He managed to systematically compliment every article of clothing and jewelry she was wearing and she was running out of anecdotes to share about them.

"Hey, look who I found sneaking around back!" Dad's voice calls out.

"Thank God," I say out loud, but my relief at the interruption doesn't last long because my well-intentioned father is dragging Jackson Wittemore up to us. I should have guessed he'd show up. While his parents were at the lake this time of year, they'd have strung him up if they found out he'd failed to attend the Stilinski farewell party.

Derek's fingers squeeze my mine to a point where I hear bone snapping. "Relax," I mutter to him under my breath. He releases my hand and strikes that barrel-chested, crossed-arms pose he'd made the first time he met Jackson. I'm starting to think the Chris Hemsworth posturing is some sort of self defense mechanism.

"Hey," I nod to Jackson, who responds with similar civility. In his button-down white shirt and khaki slacks, everything about him was suddenly _adult_. In true gentlemanly fashion he'd brought lilies, the same ones he used to bring for my Mom whenever he'd come over for dinner. I'm not sure who he was trying to impress here but-

"Jackson!" Melissa's voice raises three octaves. I do a double take as she gives him a hug that could rival the one she gave me— or the ones she tries to give Scott. "We've missed you hun! When are you going to stop by and visit the nurses on 4th?"

"Wait—what?" My hand waxes the air between the two of them, asking the question I can't seem to get out.

"Jackson here did a couple medical rotations at Beacon Hills Hospital," Dad explains, slapping him on the back. "I was picking Mel up from work one night and saw this one running around like he'd stepped out of a horror movie."

"He'd just assisted in his first major surgery," Melissa informs. "Everyone was thrilled to hear you'd graduated sweetheart."

"Thanks Mel," he says with a charming smile before turning to Dad. "And thanks for the grad gift Mr. Stilinski. The watch was really generous."

"Any time son," he pounds a palm on the back of Jackson's shoulder and beams at him proudly… and I love my Dad, I do, but sometimes it's staggering how obtuse he can be. I realize he and Mr. Whittemore were bff's so I never said anything all the times he'd casually mentioned Jackson in conversation, but what the fuck was he doing buying my ex _watches_?

"Dad," I say deliberately. "You remember Derek?"

He finally looks at me with a grin, which falters at the sight of my expression and fades almost completely by the time he turns to my current boyfriend. "Derek," Dad nods. "Thanks for driving down with Stiles."

"Well he asked," Derek replies curtly. I toss him a sidelong glare but he's trapped in some sort of confrontational stare down with my father and neither of them is snapping out of it.

"What beautiful lilies, Jackson," Melissa says in an attempt to cut the tension.

Unfortunately her efforts are in vain, because when Jackson turns to me with beautiful, somber eyes, it becomes alarmingly clear the flowers aren't a casual nicety; they're for me. "Um, yeah I owed Stiles an apology."

_Unbelievable. _For a moment I have to stop and ask myself if this is real life, because I can't believe he's stupid enough to be doing this with Derek Hale standing right next to me.

"I wasn't myself yesterday," Jackson continues hesitantly. "I was upset, and I reacted poorly… I didn't mean to cause you any more pain than I already have"

"And you couldn't have done this over the phone?" I ask, noticing my Dad flinch out the corner of my eye. I don't really care. Jackson was the one who'd decided to do this in public.

"…Look just take the flowers and consider forgiving me. I really am sorry for my behavior, towards you and Derek."

I'm not taking them, but I'm not about to make a scene either. "Fine. Whatever," I say tersely. "Why don't you go put those in some water?"

"Here, I'll help," Derek snatches the bouquet, and with the proficiency of any newly wed bride he whips it over his shoulder. All eyes follow as it sails over the pool, skims the surface with a slosh, then bobs steadily in the water. Nobody says a word. I half expect Derek to storm off but he just stands there dickishly, finishing off his beer, not giving two shits that eyes are gaping at him.

"Nice," I say to him. "Could you please get them before they clog up the skimmer?"

"Yeah,_ that's _happening." He takes another sip of his beer.

I grab the can as it leaves his lips, sending bubbles up his nose.

"I said _go get them_."

He stares at me, voice dripping with acidity. "If you want them so badly why don't you fuck off and get them yourself?"

My eyebrows raise because he doesn't speak to me in that tone, ever, and the fact that he's chosen to do it today of all days, in front of my_ dad_ is just… great. "Derek either get the flowers or go upstairs and pack." For a few tense seconds I honestly can't tell what he's going to do. I'm fairly certain he's considering throwing _me_ in the pool. Instead he releases a vehement grunt, strips the shirt over his head and thrusts it into my chest so hard I have to take a step back to catch my balance. He stalks off to the pool in deathly silence. He could have just used the net in the shed, but then he wouldn't have been able to flex his chest like a fucking silverback.

"Sorry. He's not usually like this," I say to the listening audience, which unfortunately isn't just the immediate people involved in the conversation.

"If you say so," comes Dad's grim reply. "I'll be at the grill."

"Dad…" I call after him wearily

"I'll have a word with him Stiles," Melissa says, somehow managing to know what's going on even if she has no idea what's happening.

Jackson clears his throat. "That didn't go well."

"No shit. Flowers? Really?" I say through grit teeth.

"I meant to give them to you in private but—"

"You shouldn't be giving me _anything_ in private. If playing nice with my Dad and trying to piss off my boyfriend is some grand scheme to win me back—"

"Easy!" He raises his hands against the accusation. "Stiles, I don't want you back. I made my choice the day we broke up and I don't regret the decision. I'm happy."

Jesus Christ, that's not supposed to still sting, is it? "Great, Jackson. Thanks for coming down here just to tell me how happy you are." I step towards the pool but he stops me with a hand at my hip. He retracts almost immediately at the expression on my face.

"Stiles would you just listen? When did you get so hot tempered?"

"I think you know."

A sad sort of smile tugs at his lips. "Things worked out best for the both of us. You've got the big guy head over fists for you and I landed a surgery residency in Washington. Neither of those things would have happened if we'd gone off to college still acting like lovesick idiots."

"I wasn't acting!" My voice rises a little higher than I'd like it to.

"No. Neither was I, but I couldn't make you happy Stiles. That life plan of yours was killing."

"What life plan?"

"…Wedding after grad, locked in a mortgage by residency, kids on the immediate agenda."

"Those weren't _plans_. They were… guidelines."

"You'd picked out the color scheme for the nursery."

I roll my eyes. "What the fuck Jackson. If you weren't on board why didn't you just say so?"

He gives me a disarming smile that makes my heart jump—not in a good way. In a I've-leaned-too-far-back-in-this-seat sort of way. "How're you supposed to look at the person you love most in the world and tell them you don't want the same things they do? It was easier to say nothing at all."

I don't know how to respond to that. I lift Derek's beer to my lips and stall. I feel completely ambushed and entirely under prepared for this conversation. I knew all the things I wanted to convey—I'd written him a hundred emails describing exactly what I'd thought of him, but at the end of the day I'd never hit send.

"What do you need me to say Stiles?" He murmurs, suddenly stifling me with his closeness even though he hasn't moved an inch.

"Nothing. It's not your job to make me feel better."

"I suppose it's not." He glances at the shirt clutched in my hand. "I've always loved you Stiles, but not enough to give up my dreams for you. If you've found someone who can finally give you what you need, then breaking up with you was worth it."

I feel the air rush out of my lungs as he leans closer. He squeezes my forearm and murmurs a 'take care of yourself' in my ear before walking away.

Again.

He just says things, then leaves, like a two minute conversation is supposed to give me closure. Perhaps it was just my ego wishing I could have heard him say—at least once—that he regretted leaving me. Except he didn't regret it. He was happy. So was I. It's the seventeen year old in me that wanted to see an ounce of remorse out of him.

Feeling icy daggers in my back, I turn to the pool where Hurricane Hale is glaring frostily at me from the water. I walk over to him, kicking off my sneakers and dropping heavily to the stony edge. Cold water rushes up my legs and I sit there, waiting for the inevitable.

"So, you two getting back together or what?"

I shake my head, not in reply to the question but in aversion of it. All things considered it's not as scathing as it could have been considering his earlier tone. "So did you do what I told you to do, or were you too hulked out to hear me?" I ask bluntly.

The drowned bouquet lifts from where he'd been clutching it underwater and he slaps it on my knee in a splash of wet petals and a scrape of sharp stems. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic. Thanks for the effort," I deadpan, tossing the flowers on the grass before inspecting my suddenly stinging knee. A thin streak of blood appears. Derek grunts in surprise, swiping a thumb over it. It just flourishes red again. He starts rubbing at it, which is just extremely hygienic.

"Stop that," I knock his hand away.

He releases a soft sigh, cupping the back of my knee and pressing a kiss over the red streaked skin in front of him. He's giving me the same look Bailey did when she peed on my bedroom floor- and if I can resist Beagle pup's eyes surely I can… Holy shit, seriously, what the fuck color are Derek's eyes? They're like twin galaxies, stare at them too long and you could fall in and asphyxiate in the cold dead vacuum of space, but for those final precious seconds of life you'd probably tell yourself it was worth it.

_Dammit._

I slap a hand over his mystical orbs. "No. You don't get to act like a dick one minute then look at me like that the next. You really blew it back there with my Dad. God knows what he thinks of you now."

"Who cares? He's got his head so far up Jackson's ass he barely noticed me anyway."

…It was hard to argue that. I remove my hand. "I'll talk to him, alright? But I can't build bridges if you keep setting them on fire, and telling me to fuck off in front of my father? Not helpful. Also, kinda mean."

"I'm sorry, but how do you expect me to react to another guy giving you flowers?"

"They were apology flowers, not a metaphor for his dominion over my vagina."

"Know what else isn't a metaphor? My foot up his ass if he touches you again. What did he say to you?"

"Stupid shit I'm trying to forget."

He shifts between my legs, gripping my ankles under water. "He made a play for you, didn't he?"

"The opposite, really."

"What do you mean?"

…Like I was going to admit to him that my ex was completely well adjusted and dumping me had probably been the best decision he'd ever made? Fuck that.

"Stiles?"

"Derek, enough. Whatever bullshit paranoia you're going through in your head, please just deal with it internally because I don't want to talk about Jackson and I don't want to think about Jackson and seeing him again is bad enough without you making me feel worse."

"But he's—"

"—Got nothing to do with you! He was my boyfriend for five years Derek, and in the end I meant nothing to him. I've said this to you multiple times—you're not the reason I'm not with Jackson. Jackson's the reason I'm not with Jackson."

His heavy chin drops on my undamaged knee and he mumbles. "So even if I wasn't in the picture, you wouldn't…?"

"If the world ended and you were turned during the great zombie apocalypse and_ he_ was the only other human alive… I'd run towards the undead."

Derek frowns. "Zombies."

"Or if you choked on a pickle and suffocated to death, whatever."

"Those are your two most likely scenarios? 'Zombie apocalypse' or choked on a pickle'?"

"…I don't lay awake at night and dream up plausible circumstances for your death. If you haven't noticed, I'm kinda fond of your jealous ass."

"I'm not jealous," he assures, raking his fingers up my leg and stroking the back of my knees. "Jealousy implies I'm insecure—and I'm not insecure. I'm territorial."

"I feel like this is going to end with you peeing on me."

"Well if you're offering…" When I fail to respond he adds, "That was a joke."

I look at him suspiciously and his eyes widen. "It was a joke!" He repeats, this time with exclamation.

"Good… because I'm not okay with that. I mean, unless we were in the shower, then maybe I'd let you go on my leg or—"

"Jesus! Stiles I'm not going to pee on you in—!" he cuts off. His expression clamps down and I know my dad's standing behind me.

"I'd like a word. I'll be in the den," Dad says, part weary, part strangled before turning away.

"Goddammit," I moan, hauling myself to my feet.

Derek snorts out a laugh and raises himself out of the water.

"No," I plant a foot on his shoulder easing him back down. "Stay, keep an eye on the kids. You know what happens when one person jumps into a pool with their clothes on."

Derek looked over his shoulder at the children who were now paddling and shrieking in the water, much to their parents' chagrin. "…I don't see why they just don't drown one. It'd send a message to the others."

"If that's your idea of good parenting then clearly you need the practice."

"For what?"

I pause, unable to tell if he's being facetious or if he honestly doesn't know what I'm talking about. "Just… keep everyone alive," I order, heading off after Dad.

.

.

I pad barefoot across the old threadbare carpet in the den and drop into the leather armchair. Dad's sitting at the large oak desk, staring blankly at the computer screen I know is turned off. You'd think talking across a table would be informal, but this had always been our comfort zone. It's where I'd first said words like 'gay' and 'boyfriend' and he'd said words like 'terminal' and 'inoperable'. Everything good or bad that had ever meant anything to either of us had been discussed right here.

"I don't like him," Dad says finally.

I'm not surprised he'd gotten right to the point. "Is this a new development or have you always felt this way?"

"I didn't mind you dating Derek, but I figured you'd grow out of it."

"He's not a pair of jeans Dad."

"Jackson—"

"Broke up with me. "

"He was just doing what he thought was right at the time, what we told him was right."

"Excuse me- t_old him_? Who told him what?"

Dad falters a second before replying. "He was having doubts about Harvard because of the commitments he'd made to you. His parents called me over and the four of us had a chat. I told him that maybe now wasn't the best time for the two of you to start playing house and making compromises for each other that would have effected your education. His parents agreed. Your mother would have too."

"Huh," I nod thoughtfully. "And exactly where was I during this Stillinski-Whittemore séance in which you all decided what was best for me and Jackson?"

"There was no reasoning with you when it came to him," Dad utters humorlessly. "You don't remember what you were like back then. After your mom… everything in your life became about him."

"…Which is why you felt so comfortable splitting us up?"

"I never told him to break up with you Stiles. I just told him not to make a sacrifice he'd resent you for later. I also said you needed to figure out who you were without him."

"Who I was without him was a head case with trust issues."

"Going through break ups is part of life son."

I flinch. "Why aren't you getting this? Dad he destroyed my self-esteem. I spent my entire first year of undergrad trying to earn it back from strangers who weren't interested in me beyond the hour I'd spend with them—which shockingly only made me feel worse about myself."

Dad pales a little. I hadn't meant to throw that out there, but he had to know what happened hadn't just changed how I approached relationships; it had changed who I was. "Look, it's all in the past," I shake my head. "I was stupid to let it effect me the way it did, but I'm trying to move on and you bringing up this stuff isn't helping."

Dad leans over the desk. "Stiles, if his parents and I hadn't interfered the two of you would still be together. Doesn't that make a difference to you?"

"It adds some detail to the sketch but that doesn't really change the picture. Jackson made the decision to leave me behind. The fact that you guys sat down and discussed it first… well, it obviously means he put some thought into it."

"You're really not going back to him?"

I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. "This wasn't any of your business back then, and it isn't now. I love you but, you cannot interfere in my relationships… and just a warning? Derek isn't nearly as impressionable as Jackson so any attempts to get him to stop dating me won't end well for any of us because he snaps easily."

"I noticed."

Fuck. I'd walked into that one. "Look that wasn't his finest moment. Can you give him a second chance?"

"Stiles his attitude is one thing but he's so…_large_."

"He works out. What's that got to do with anything?"

"I'm just saying you and Jackson were sort of on… equal grounds. Physically. I didn't worry about you getting hurt."

My eyes slit apprehensively. "Is this a sex thing?"

Dad turns beet red confirming my suspicions. He starts fidgeting. "It's just that I figured between you and Jackson, you were the ah…" he looks across his desk and lifts a pencil. "And he was the…?" Dad picks up a sharpener next.

He slowly brings them together.

"Oh God. Please stop."

He purses his lips and drops his hands. "Erm, sorry. I'm just not sure how to talk to you about these things."

"Not like that," I state. "Look all you need to know is that Derek makes me happy in every sense of the word. Now if there's nothing else, I'd like us to go out there and have a nice meal together as a family. If you could maybe try being nice too Derek..?"

"For you, anything," he promises.

.

.

Derek is thoroughly preoccupied playing lifeguard— someone had made the mistake of giving him a goddamn whistle and he was making full use of it whenever anyone under four feet tall ventured past the designated safety lines. He was a far bigger stickler for safety than I'd have ever pegged him for, but then again he'd thrown my phone out the window the one time in my life I'd ever replied a text while on the highway. Naturally, he'd done this in front of a cop car so we'd gotten a ticket for littering—correction, _I'd_ gotten the ticket. Derek had refused to pay it on principle that I was in the wrong, but he had gotten me a fancy new phone as a replacement, so we'd moved past it.

With a sharp chirp of the whistle, Derek reprimands a kid for whacking Mikey in the face with an inflatable yellow beach ball.

Mikey starts bawling, and Derek's head disappears under water, presumably to drown himself, but when he resurfaces the little boy is thrust out of the water and seated on a pair of broad shoulders. I've never seen anyone do a 180 so seamlessly, but Mikey is shrieking with excitement and pulling at clumps of thick hair. Derek seems unphased. He grabs the ball and throws it in the air, barking orders for the kid to hit it. The tiny fist flails wildly, barely taps at it, but with some covert assistance from Derek it surges to the opposite end of the pool anyway.

Mikey raises his hands and let's out a whoop, but loses his grip which sends him toppling backwards off the great Mount Hale. Derek hoists the spluttering child out of the water and onto dry land, but the boy is laughing hard it's hard to tell if he's dying or not. Fortunately Melissa picks him up and orders for all the kids to come eat.

Derek grabs the discarded shirt and pats himself down with it. With the sun baking his burned gold skin, Derek's half dry by the time he strolls up to where I'm lounging at the patio table. "For your services," I declare, handing him a napkin wrapped burger I'd saved for him. There would be plenty more, but the first batch always tasted the best. He's clearly starving but he braces his hands on the armrests of my chair and bypasses the burger, instead pushing a vigorous tongue past my lips. The feral kiss last for two fleeting seconds, but still leaves me stunned.

"….What was that for?" I ask licking my tingling lips.

He drops onto the wicker chair beside me with a sigh. "For having a penis, so we'll never have to deal with tiny screaming abominations that shit on you for the first eighteen years of their lives, then ignore you for the next forty, then put you in a retirement home when you're senile." He wolfs down a third of the burger in one bite while I tell myself not to go off on him about the joys of parenthood. That's the kind of bullshit that had made Jackson turn tail and run, and while I knew Derek wasn't that fickle, this really wasn't the time or place for that conversation.

"Does this have onions?" Derek frowns deeply, splitting open the burger and seeing the wretched ring of doom defiling the patty. He looks at me like I've committed a cardinal sin against humanity. "God dammit Stiles why do you hate me?!"

"I didn't notice!" I hold back a chuckle because I know how serious he is about onions. I pick off the ring and discard it on his behalf.

"And the little one on the edge," he says pointing to it in outrage, but not wanting to actually touch it himself.

When I've thoroughly rid his burger of all onion particles he finishes it off, but still shoots me intermittent grumpy looks.

The rest of the afternoon goes fairly smoothly. With Jackson nowhere in sight, Derek had settled in his own skin, apologized for his earlier behavior, but had still chosen to direct most of his conversation towards Melissa and not my Dad. When she'd left to take a call from Scott, Dad had snuck in a few probing questions about the Hale family. Unfortunately, talk of Peter Hale lead to a discussion on politics, which was tenuous subject matter in the Stilinski home and best avoided completely: Dad was a Republican. Well, fiscal conservative social liberal, but he still voted for the guy who thought I was going to burn in the fiery chasms of hell for doing something as innocuous as putting a dick in my mouth. Anyway— I knew my Dad didn't share the same sentiments towards gay rights as his party, but Derek wasn't taking it so well.

"You do know your own son is gay?" Derek asks incredulous.

"That's not an issue in my eyes," Dad placates. "Just because I support smaller government doesn't mean I don't support my son being who he is. I'm sure you don't agree with _everything_ on the liberal agenda."

"I don't think allowing people basic human rights is an agenda," Derek deadpans.

"Who wants another beer?" I offer lightly. "Dad?"

"I'm alright son," he says, leaning forwards, elbows on knees and hands clasped together. "With your uncle a Senator you must have grown up around this stuff, heard a lot of people say a lot of things they didn't mean. You're telling me you completely support a hundred percent of what your party believes in?"

Derek, uncharacteristically, thinks before answering. "…Well when you put it that way I suppose not."

"Hah!" Dad says triumphantly, bouncing a fist off the armrest. "We can disagree all day young man, but I like a guy who's honest about what he thinks."

When Dad goes off to get seconds I fire a quizzical look at Derek. "…Did you just bullshit your way into my father's good graces?"

"No, I thought about it and he's right," Derek informs munching thoughtfully on the plate of sweet potato fries. "You and I are going to be paying higher taxes when we start working, so that kinda blows. Also the healthcare system is a complete joke. Can't say I care for the way they're making it socially acceptable to have abortions either."

I pause, waiting for a punch line that doesn't arrive.

"...Okay stop looking at me like I'm every angry blonde woman on FOX," he drawls.

"Well stop getting all your political information from the comments section of youtube then," I scowl at him. "At the very least you're supposed to have a basic understanding of abortion issues."

Derek slings an arm over the back of my chair and stares at me squarely. "First of all, my grasp on politics is slightly deeper than whatever you get out of the twenty minutes you spend beating off to the Daily Show every night. Secondly, you know I'm pro-choice. I'm just saying when two consenting, age appropriate adults fuck in accordance of the law and they get pregnant, perhaps the issue shouldn't be treated as moral equivalent of getting your appendix out."

"Who says that it is? It's not your job to sit there and judge people when you don't have the faintest idea of what they're going through."

"Stiles, I can disagree with someone while respecting their decisions. Hence why I'm pro-_choice._"

_"Barely."_

"...I'm definitely going to regret asking this but why does this matter to you anyway?"

"It's a matter of ethics!" I say incredulous. "If I'd knocked you up unintentionally... well I don't think one mistake should interfere with my future plans."

"Well congratulations on having an opinion. I happen to disagree with you, but who the fuck cares because it's not like we're not having kids anyway."

"Who says we aren't?"

"Jesus Christ when he made us gay."

"I want kids Derek. Maybe not in the biblical sense, but I still want them." I feel my heart knocking against the walls of my ribcage in ways that they tell me are anatomically impossible, but I know what I'm feeling. There's a second where we just stare at each other, then the arm slung around my chair abruptly drops.

"You're kidding me? Where in the holy fuck of _fucks_ is this coming from?"

"I don't know, the hundreds of timest I've casually mentioned babies during the course of our relationship?"

"I thought you were joking."

"Well I wasn't. I want a family and my definition of that involves having a kid with whoever I end up with."

"…Whoever you end up with?" He echoes. "Who do you _think_ you're going to end up with, Stiles?"

"I dunno—the kid thing is a deal breaker for me so I guess it's up to you."

His eyes flash venomously. "So if I say no, we're done here?"

"Wow, way to misinterpret everything I just said."

"How do I misinterpret 'deal breaker'?

I shake my head and help myself to his fries. "Look let's just drop it. We've got at _least_ another five years before this becomes an issue."

"Time enough for you to change my mind, right?"

"Right," I say, but then do a double take the second it's out. "I mean, no. That's not –"

"I think I heard you pretty clearly Stiles." He rises from his seat. "I'm gonna go help clean up."

I stare after him a little stunned. What in God's name had just happened? I'd been successfully jumping through deadly flaming relationship hoops ever since that phone call from Jackson on my birthday, and _this_ is what trips me up? A hypothetical male pregnancy turned into me giving him an ultimatum about children— mere hours after I'd decided not to pressure him? God, I would NOT want to date me.

"What's with the face Stiles?" Melissa asks, returning to the table.

"Just me inventing unnecessary drama," I answer glibly. "How's Scott?"

"He and Allison had a 'fight'," she uses air quotes. "They're still at that new-relationship phase where they haven't had enough arguments to gauge how mad they're supposed to be at each other. I was attempting to explain that toilet seat placement isn't cause for a break up."

"Not a problem for us," I say with a dull note of victory.

"And what is the problem? Derek's not looking so chipper."

"Basically I can't keep my big mouth shut." I give her a brief but colorful explanation of how I was emotionally sabotaging my relationship. She takes it all in and taps elegant long fingers on the patio table thoughtfully while I await her assessment.

"Stiles have you ever fallen into a toilet first thing in the morning?" She asks.

"No?"

"Well it's extremely unpleasant. It takes two extra seconds out of your life to put the seat down. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"That the toilet seat is a metaphor for control in the relationship and that causing him even momentary pain isn't worth the power trip?"

"Actually I was just going to tell you to quit being an entitled brat. Everyone's ideas of a perfect future are different, that's why you have to talk these things out and not test each other to see how far you can push before one of you breaks." She trails off, a little frown creasing her forehead. "Sorry, that was a little harsh. I'm still in mommy-mode after that talk with Scott."

"I probably needed to hear it," I admit with a smile. I let Derek cool off and banter with Melissa for a little while longer, not just about my relationship dilemmas but about her wedding plans and whether Dad owned an actual suit. I'm almost annoyed when the first droplets from the sky splatter against my bare arm, drawing the evening to an abrupt closure. Kids start to shriek and panicked adults round them up, because jumping into a pool of water is alright but God forbid it falls from the sky. Dad emerges from the downpour with a wayward toddler tucked under each arm, handing them over to their parents and telling me not to bother with a clean up tonight with the weather the way it was.

So much for sunny Beacon Hills. Not that I was complaining- this was excellent hot chocolate and cuddle time weather, if only I could get my boyfriend interested. With a forearm shielding against the rain I trot out to Derek who's alone behind the shed, wrestling an overturned table.

"I can take care of it in the morning," I yell at him through the blustering wind, while lunging for a stray lawn chair barreling towards his head. I felt oddly heroic for a moment, but he hadn't seen me doing it, so it's not something I could trade for sexual favors at a later date.

"Derek?" I ask, tossing the chair against the shed and crouching down beside him. He ignores me. For the first time I realize this battle might not be as easily won as I'd thought. Not yet willing to touch the wounded beast (however glorious he looked shirtless in the rain) I pick the more cautious approach.

"I'm sorry," I plead loud enough for him to hear me over the wet patter. "Can we please talk?"

"You haven't left much room for discussion." He finally manages to snap one of the table legs closed.

"Derek…" I partly moan, but mostly whine. "I'm cold and wet and seeing you sad is making me sad. The whole kids thing is—"

"I don't care about that," he interjects, swiping a wet hand over an even wetter face. "You know if it meant that much to you I'd never say no. What's getting to me are your fucking ultimatums. Do you keep a list somewhere?"

"List?"

"A list of things that would justify you walking out on me if I fall short of expectations."

"I have plenty of expectations, but they're all kinda pointless without someone like you." I'd thought it an extremely romantic statement but he looks at me completely harrowed.

"Are you even hearing yourself Stiles? Do you want _me_, or do you want someone who checks off boxes on an application form you failed to show me on our first date?"

"Like I'm the first guy with a checklist?"

He seems floored by this simple confession. "I didn't have one! I saw you, wanted you, fucked you, then I fell in love with you. That's it. No strings. If you woke up tomorrow wanting to be a professional pirate, you know what I'd do?"

"A tox screen, head CT, then admit me to the psych floor because you care about my mental health?"

"I'd goddamn follow you to the sea Stiles."

Great. I wanted to have a real conversation and he's talking about pirates. "Derek, I need more than the blind romance. Knowing our lives are on similar trajectories makes me feel secure. Not that you've ever given me reason to feel insecure- despite all the relationship grenades I drop on you, you've never been anything but honest, and that means more to me than you'll ever know."

"I invested my trust fund in Danny's new record label."

I pause. "What now?"

At the ominous crack of thunder Derek curses under his breath, grips my hand and jerks me towards the shed. It's darker and for some reason colder and leaky as hell. Derek props me up against the workbench like a mannequin and steps back.

"I know it's not exactly what my parents wanted me to do with the money- it's definitely not what my uncle wanted me to do with it- but Danny and I have been talking about going into business together since high school and it's just something I've always wanted to do. I mean Danny would run it of course, I'd just be the silent business partner. Nothing's going to change with me or with us, so whatever your plans are... this doesn't effect anything, okay?"

Is he serious? I think he's serious. I was aware that the Hale's were old money and that Derek had been quite comfortably settled for the future, but I wasn't prepared for his decision to blow it all on this mid-20's life crisis. Well at least this is explains all his Sunday night Skype chats with Danny in which they'd talk at each other like two excited girls sharing the same brain. It's basically the only time I see him acting like a kid, a luxury most of us can't afford, but Derek seems to have figured it out and I think the right thing to do is to be happy for him. I just haven't gotten there yet.

"Okay. Well, congratulations I guess," I tell him.

He deflates. "You're mad."

"No," I assure quickly. "Look it's your money and for what it's worth I think your parents would have wanted you to do whatever makes you happy... but I'm just trying to catch up to your logic here."

"I don't really have logic. I just... did it."

Right. It's his life's philosophy: want, take, have. Not in a way that makes him a jackass- he's just got a lot of things going for him that enable him to live this way. Makes me wonder why he tries so hard. Something Danny said to me on the beach starts looming over me and I feel a coil of anxiety in my gut.

"Derek, you want to be a doctor, right?" I ask.

His eyebrows crease. "...No, this was all a social experiment. I'm actually a Turkish Prince sent to learn your culture and sleep with the one they call_ Stiles_."

"Nice," I acknowledge his attempted humor. "But on a more personal note, I've already gotten my heart broken by someone who kept saying 'yes' to me when he meant 'no'. So whatever you want to say just say it and ignore my stupid life plans, because I'm selfish and I will absolutely try to herd you along the little path I'd like to be on and I don't want you to resent me for it."

"...Stiles I'm not _sheep_," he grips me under the ass and hoists me onto the workbench. "And there's nothing wrong with being a little selfish..." He peels my wet shirt off, his dark gaze making me feel naked beyond just the physical. "I'm selfish too. When you love something as beautiful as you are, it's hard not to be."

My breath gets caught in my throat. His hot hands glide over my wet skin, steaming it dry and scorching much deeper than the surface. I spread my legs as he moves in closer, brushing our quickly hardening erections through drenched clothing and making obscenely slick sounds as we grind. I'm entirely consumed by the sight of trickling rivulets pouring from his dark hair, collecting at the groove above his clavicle in a shimmery little pool. I bury my fingers in the nape of his neck and tug him closer, soaking my tongue into the wet spot. His entire body freezes as I lap at his skin. When a minute goes by without movement I smile against his skin.

"_Wake up Derek_," I say gently, dropping my hands down the back of his shorts and caressing handfuls of Grade A ass.

He moans lightly, his fingers scouring down my back. He snaps the elastic of my shorts, stinging my wet skin and echoing embarrassingly loudly in the small shed.I shift my hips and he pulls them off.

"You're blushing," he smirks, not at my face but at my crotch. In seconds he has my unruly erection tamed under his patient palm and he's stroking me slowly. My muted cries are silenced completely by an invading tongue that slips past my lips unannounced and dominates mine seductively. I pull out his dick and find it pleasantly heavy and engorged in my hands. Derek leans in and I hear a metallic cluttering behind me as he sweeps the workbench clear, but he stops just short of slamming me onto the table.

"Ugh… it's wet," he says.

"So is everything else," I reply, trying to put my tongue back in his mouth.

"And clearly it hasn't been sanded down."

"I can handle a couple splinters if you make it worth my time."

"Stiles the fact that you're a guy is one of my favorite things about you, so don't get offended when I say you have the skin of a sixteenth century French milkmaid. You don't splinter, you hemorrhage. Just… _move_."

With some gentle shoving and not-so-gentle arguing we manage to get into a mutually beneficial position—Derek laying on his back with his tongue buried in my hole while I was on all fours blowing him- or trying to, at least. It wasn't easy when he was doing things to my ass that were making it hard for me to concentrate. When his tongue retracts, his teeth are wounding, and when his teeth let up, he's fingering me so hard I feel like I'm going to pass out.

"Stiles," he urges, his hips lifting off the table. I'd been so distracted I'd barely noticed it when he'd slipped from my mouth.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly, kissing the base of his dick and streaking a wet tongue up its length. I try dissociating from the magical things he was doing to my ass and instead focus on pleasuring him. I relax and sink down into his crotch, his silky hard erection burning down my throat. I bob over it hungrily letting the tip of his dick slam at the spot that holds the last remnants of my gag reflex.

"Christ, S-STILES?!" He hollers. A loud thud that follows tells me that slamming his head against the workbench was basically the only reason he hadn't cum just then. I ease off and look over my shoulder.

"Yes?" I ask cheekily.

"Turn around. If this is happening it needs to happen now," he pants.

I smirk, enjoying how he'd evolved from subtle suggestion that he might be nearing orgasm, to just plain telling me to sit on his dick before it blows. I pounce over his body and plant my hands on his pecs, tortuously dragging my erection over his much wetter one before raising myself on my knees. He holds himself steady as I lower onto his cock, slipping him in easily thanks to the ministrations of his tongue on my thoroughly prepared opening.

He growls my name, and unable to take it lying down he rocks upright, grabbing me around the waist before I slip off. "God... 'mso deep." He buries his head in my chest and pants, throbbing hard and hot inside me.

"…Okay I can't move if you don't ease up," I chide, tugging at his hair so he looks up at me. In the dim light his eyes are darker now, half-lidded with lustful adoration. However the tender moment is abruptly washed away when he thrusts skywards and impales me so hard all I hear are balls slapping skin. I gasp sharply and reach to the wall behind him, but the shed being so small makes it just as easy to hang onto the uneven ceiling boards for support. I leverage myself and start meeting his thrusts with my own harder ones.

"Fuck me Stiles! God that's it, _ride it_," he begs as I pound myself onto his dick without reservation. He switches his angles and nails my prostate every way he can, making me shake and claw at the leaking ceiling. The rain keeps trickling down my wrists and flowing over my chest before splattering onto him. Every now and then there's a flash of lightning that illuminates his face and every time he's staring up at me like he's addicted to whatever I'm giving him.

When I feel myself getting closer I abandon the ceiling to wrap my arms around his neck instead, slanting my mouth over his. He makes these quiet noises like he's starved for affection and I do everything I can think of to flood him with it, but when his dick snaps against prostate one time too many I have to break the kiss and just moan. My body locks down and I feel a swell of pleasure barreling towards me. Derek's hand encloses my cock, drawing out my orgasm in a way that only he can. He pulses and pours inside me and I hear a string of words from his lips, all of which are some arrangement of the letters in my name. His garbled speech ends with a curse, then a groan, and finally fades into heavy panting.

"You're a fucking beast, Stiles," Derek growls in my ear.

"You're not so bad yourself Derek. I'd give you a standing ovation but I can't feel my legs."

He makes a content little noise from the back of his throat and kisses me. So easily pleased. So easily annoyed.

"Did you hear that?" Derek pulls back suddenly. I'm about to ask 'what' when his hand clamps over my mouth.

The rain had toned down to a light drizzle and the wind was calming, the voice it carried suddenly very clear.

"Shit!" Derek's got his shorts halfway up his legs when he throws my shirt to me.

"Stiles?!" Dad hollers again from outside.

"In here!" I yell, wrenching my own clothes in place in under three seconds. Derek is in the corner with his back turned to me, very busily stacking then unstacking then restacking the folding lawn chairs.

"Can you boys give me a hand here?" Dad asks appearing in the doorway. I see he's holding up a dead body. Nope, not dead, just Jackson.

"He got into the vodka, found him passed out in your room," Dad grimaces.

I groan inwardly. Fucking awesome. How was I supposed to-

"I got him," Derek says, relieving Dad of the dead, groaning weight.

"Appreciated son," Dad thumps Derek on the back and points. "It's through the gate and across the yard, key's under the lawn turtle."

Derek half carries, half drags Jackson off without complaint. I watch stunned as he heads off, waiting until he's through the gate before I'm satisfied he's not planning on maiming Jackson.

"You alright?" Dad asks. "You look flushed."

_Jesus Christ._"Yeah I'm fine," I assure, squirming in place and trying to pretend like I wasn't leaking Hale from places I didn't want to think about in front of my dad.

"You know I don't have anything against…. I'm just saying, you're adults." He reaches out and tugs at the worn tags at my throat, establishing that my shirt is not only back to front but also inside out. "So feel free to be adults, in your bedroom. No need to run off to the shed."

"Uhm, thanks," I reply, abysmally mortified. "Not just for… I mean, thanks for giving Derek a second chance."

Dad stalls for a moment before adding, "It's been difficult for me to accept your relationship. It's just that Jackson is the only boy who will ever have your mother's approval."

The comment knocks the air out of my lungs for a second. "Yeah. I guess... but I think she'd have liked Derek, right?"

A small smile plays on his face. "You could have brought Chuck Norris through that door and she'd have approved as long as you were happy."

"A _Republican?_ Give me some credit, Dad."

He rolls his eyes. "For the record your mother and I voted Democrat the year you came out to us and I've done it every year since."

I blink in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Yeah—that's how much I care about you. I'd rather watch our economy go up in flames under a sub par administration than see you getting treated different than anyone else's kid."

"And what, you want us to throw you a parade for doing the decent thing?" I mock candidly. He reaches over and scruffs up my hair, telling me to go after Derek and make sure he didn't accidentally snap any necks.

It's not a bad idea.

I head off across the lawn, hesitating slightly on the Whittemore's back porch before shaking off a few demons and entering through the half open door.

"Derek?" I whisper loudly, trying to ignore the half eaten bowl of kibble on the floor. No wonder Jackson had gone and gotten himself mind numbingly drunk. At least I'd had Derek to distract me but he'd been stuck alone in his house and left to wallow.

I step softly down the hallway to Jackson's bedroom, stopping short at the doorway. The sight of my boyfriend on bended knee tugging off my ex's shoes wasn't one I'd ever expected to see. Derek gets to his feet, grabbing a fistful of Jackson's shirt and dragging him further up the bed, pulling the goddamn covers over him and _tucking him in_. I grimace when he leans over Jackson's face, staring at him a little more intently than I'm comfortable with.

I'm about to clear my throat when I hear a thunderous clap. At frist I thought the rain was back, but then I see Jackson drunkenly stunned, clutching a quickly reddening cheekbone.

"HEY WHITTERDOUCHE! PAY ATTENTION!" Derek bellows, jabbing an index finger at the nightstand. "WATER. ADVIL. BUCKET FOR YOU TO PUKE IN. DO NOT—I REPEAT, DO NOT—CALL MY BOYFRIEND AT THREE AM IN THE MORNING ASKING HIM TO COME TAKE CARE OF YOU. YOU KNOW WHO'LL SHOW UP? I'LL SHOW UP, AND MY DEFINITION OF TAKING CARE OF YOU WILL INVOLVE SLAMMING YOUR GODDAMN FACE IN THE WALL UNTIL YOU LOOK LIKE A REGULAR HUMAN BEING—ARE WE CLEAR?"

Jackson nods, the way you would to a hurricane verbally informing you of its intentions to mutilate you.

"GOOD. NOW GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP."

Jackson nods again, his eyes drooping shut and jaw falling open as he snores. Derek actually dusts his hands off in disgust and turns to the door. He does a double take when he sees me leaning up against the door frame.

"Hey. I was just… tucking him in for the night."

"Yeah, no. I saw," I bite down on my lower lip to keep from laughing, but then I do anyway. Derek huffs in annoyance. He spins me around and his bicep curls my neck as he walks me out of the house like a bank robber leaving with a hostage.

"He was really fucked up," Derek mutters.

"Bailey was special," I say wistfully.

"_Bailey?_ You think he got wasted and passed out in your bedroom because of a dog?"

"Well what else would it be about?"

"He's still in love with you moron."

I laugh shortly. "Yeah. Okay."

"He's-"

"Someone else's problem," I cut him off, pulling away but grabbing his hand as I do. "Now come on, I'd like to shower and cuddle and maybe blow you again before bed."

"Finally, a plan we can both agree on," he says jokingly but it stabs at a sore spot in my chest. My quest for domestic bliss hadn't accounted for anyone else's feelings in the past, but that was going to change. I want to be in a relationship where neither of us is afraid of telling the other what we want out of life- babies or businesses or anything else that comes up. Whatever happens, Derek Hale had handed me his heart no-questions-asked and I was going to treat it like the motherfucking gift that it was.

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Thanks for reading! :D


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